


For the Damaged

by Devolucao



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Disturbing Themes, M/M, Multi, Multiple Partners, PTSD, triggering content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devolucao/pseuds/Devolucao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kakashi lives a life divided.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Father

_"There is no one who loves pain itself, who seeks after it and wants to have it, simply because it is pain..." ~Cicero_

 

"Keep doing that," Kakashi's father used to tell him. "One day it'll freeze that way."

"I wasn't making faces," Kakashi lied.

This was his sourest face yet, as his father was making him snap wax-beans, both his least favorite chore and his most hated food all rolled into one. Even the dogs wouldn't touch them, which had to tell him something.

"Why do we even need so many?" He groaned, flicking off string after nasty green string. "It's just the two of us."

"Ah, but Daddy has an important mission coming up, so he's making sure his foolish son has enough beans to last a while."

He reached out and flicked Kakashi between the eyes. "Come now, you disgrace the beautiful Hatake lineage with those looks."

Kakashi had never put much stock in the beauty of his lineage, whatever that meant.

He only knew the faces he made were those he'd learned from his father, who was pretty plain in his estimation and had his own fair share of hated chores. For instance, the face he made while scrubbing around the toilet--a face that said 'I do this even though it is beneath me'--was the exact face Kakashi insisted he wasn't making now. Snapping beans was beneath him, and he hated having to pick up all the little threads afterwards. But he was a Hatake, he never complained. He simply stewed.

"And once we finish putting these away," Father cheerfully announced, "we can start canning those beets."

Kakashi's face would definitely freeze that way, he was sure of it. But Father assured Kakashi he'd thank him some day, for growing big and tall and strong, and for keeping all of his teeth, and not coming down with scurvy. He'd thank him for the silly yellow apron, and for running after dinner clean-up like a drill, complete with call-and-response; for always waking him early to practice his shuriken; for making sure he learned his letters, his maths, and his history; for putting him to bed with a detailed retelling of that one mission, that one time, with FNG Hatto; for having to leave him on his own so often.

"Well, money is one of those necessary evils," he said as he was packing his tools. "Once upon a time, Kakashi, we were all farmers. This was before such things as utility bills and sewer taxes, of course." He unsheathed the white tanto and carefully inspected its edge in the light. "I should never have sold our last goat for a handful of magic beans, son."

There'd never been any goat. The dogs would have worried it to death long ago, besides. "Are we poor?" Kakashi wanted to know. And was that the reason he was stuck canning beets all of yesterday, rather than flying kites with the other boys?

"Of course not," his father insisted, grinning in the way that made everything seem true. "Though I wouldn't say we're rich, we always have everything we need. No more, no less."

Although they didn't have a television set. They had a radio that got, at most, six stations, and that was on an especially clear day. Their windows had shutters, not screens like some newer homes; and a single, ancient looking floor fan that would short out the house every five uses or so, and send Kakashi running to pry open the circuit breaker. But no, they were not poor. In Konoha, there was no such thing as poor; not if one worked hard enough. In Konoha, _every_ house had flying roaches, and fifty percent still had squat-toilets.

They were lucky, Father said, to have a toilet at all. He said that in Grass Country, the farmers would squat right in their vegetable patches. Or just any old place. Just wait, he told Kakashi, until he had to dig a latrine in the middle of freezing February, with nothing more than a flat stone; then he'd be thankful for the old outhouse.

"A little discomfort is good for us," he said, stowing the last scroll in its compartment. "Stress is what keeps you alert."

He flipped the pack shut and snapped the fasteners, then stood to hook it onto his flak vest. Outside, the sun had just crept up over the windowsill. "Will you come see your Daddy off?"

Kakashi hopped to his feet, rudely dumping a sleeping Pakkun to the floor; a move he would later regret as the little pug was to be his baby-sitter for the next several days.

He'd see his father's team off at the gates, with stern reminders to eat at least three times a day, and go to bed at a timely hour, and listen to Pakkun. He might be small, but his memory and experience were far deeper, far longer than Kakashi's. And he'd report back whether or not Kakashi behaved.

Of course, he said; and yes, sir. And everything was as it should be. Kakashi practiced his jutsu on bunshin after bunshin--smiling to himself when they popped--while Rin and Obito sat in the sun with their brand new kits open before them, admiring the oiled metal against stiff canvas. It was idyllic, easy. The war hadn't touched them yet.

It was a distant kind of 'what if' that Obito troubled over. What if they invaded? What if the enemy had more firepower? What if they were expected to fight?

"I don't want to have to water-board somebody," Obito said.

Kakashi snorted at him and sliced through another bunshin. "Chances are, you'll never have to," he said. "Chances are greater that you'd be on the receiving end."

Because chance favored the prepared mind, and Obito was unprepared. He wasted time worrying where he ought to've been training, and Kakashi had no doubt they'd be asked to fight. His father was off fighting, as was Obito's, and did Obito suppose they were busy worrying?

No, but suppose they never came back, Obito wondered. What then?

They'd be orphans, then, but they'd still be Shinobi. It was that simple.

Kakashi's father came back alive, unwashed, unshaved, but grinning. He couldn't stop long to talk, but hoisted Kakashi up over his shoulder, spun him, and said they'd have a big celebratory meal once he'd finish making his report. The rest of the team had dispersed, and both Rin and Obito had gone off with their own parents, leaving Dad and Kakashi all to themselves.

And if he thought, for a second, Kakashi was just going to let go, Dad had another think coming. "Bah!" Kakashi had latched onto his neck and shoulder guards like velcro. He gnawed on the grungy fabric and tasted dirt. "Ugh, Dad, have you been rolling in dead stuff?"

"Son, please," he laughed. "Daddy will only be a few minutes...."

"Take me with," Kakashi demanded imperiously, molding chakra to make sure he wasn't dislodged. "I'll be a Chuunin, soon."

"Ah," said Father, and he'd given up trying to shake him loose. "So you will."

"You doubt my worthiness," Kakashi yapped. "Fool!"

"Now, now, it's not nice to call your Daddy a fool, you fool."

"Bah," he said again, but he was content. He settled into his perch with a sigh, and let himself be carried in a rocking daze into the cool administration building, where Father left him to nap against the wall.

Everything was as it should be. The sun was warm, the leaves were unfurling, and they were sure to win the war. He'd never have to worry, and he probably wouldn't have to fight, but still he'd be prepared. Too soon after dinner, he popped up from the table and ran outside, startling the dogs from the porch.

Father was after him with a sigh. "Kakashi!" He stood pitched in the doorway, gnawing the end of a toothpick. "Come, now, you'll make yourself ill."

He wouldn't hear of it. He'd been working on something amazing, and he wanted Father to see!

"Alright," said Father. "Show me what you've learned, but don't overdo it."

Kakashi glowed. He held the buzzing chakra in his hand and used it to light up the yard. "See? And look what else!" He took off, aiming for one of the target posts. If he aimed just right--then, crack!

"Very nice!"

He'd managed to splinter a gash along the side. Not nice! Not nearly what he'd been hoping for.

It was alright, though. Daddy was proud. He waved Kakashi back inside for desert, and there was no more talk of jutsu or missions or the war. There was beer for Father and ice-cream for Kakashi, and the spitting crackle of jazz on their radio. And what did Kakashi say for the ice-cream? Where were his manners?

"Ugh," he muttered. "Thank you."

The next morning, he woke to a sour stomach and a kitchen ponging of coffee. Father had another important mission coming up, he was going to have to send Kakashi for some chickens while the neighbors helped set up a coop. "Can you handle this, Kakashi?"

It wouldn't be an issue with the dogs, he said. They'd help keep the badgers and foxes away. He said that, if Kakashi saw any snakes smaller around than his forearm, those were alright, and not to kill them. He handed Kakashi a basket and a leather bill-fold and told him to go directly to the farm down the road. "What's that face for, eh? Just wait until the pig-sty's finished!"

Kakashi went, slinking low the entire way, praying nobody saw. When he returned, his basket loaded with the squawking, smelly birds, the coop had been framed, and Father was helping put up the sides. "Oi, son!" He called out, his mouth full of nails.

The fence was already up, and someone had brought a bag of feed, and Kakashi stood staring. The men hammered. The chickens squawked. The war was a distant, fantastic idea.

* * *  
Father left him with a smile and a new list of chores. He wasn't sure when the hens would start laying, but he wanted Kakashi to check every morning and collect all of the eggs. He was to scatter the feed morning and evening and make sure they had fresh water. Make sure to keep an eye out for buzzards. And make sure they didn't peck at each-other, he'd said, forever cementing Kakashi's dislike of the things.

But of course, Kakashi said; and yes, sir. And his Father's shoulders looked broad and strong and proud leaving the village. His team fell in match-step. Everything was as it should be, right up until it wasn't.

Word came back a day in: ran into ambush. STOP. Lost contact with men. STOP. Abort or proceed? FULL STOP.

The cell, along with Father would remain M.I.A and incommunicado for almost two days--and two days Shinobi time equaled given up for dead. It equaled two days of Kakashi not sleeping, not breathing, and not moving from his position by the commons window. His heart had stopped beating, and would not start again until he saw the messenger bird land. His father came back alive, unshaved, unrested, and unexpected. He'd have come back alone, or not at all; but he'd made the decision to scuttle the mission rather than abandon his comrades, for which they'd revile him.

There'd be no medals, no hoorahs, no recognition for his incredible deed. There'd be a pay-cut and a dressing down, talk of a court-marshal. Lives were saved, but the intel was lost, and all anyone cared about was how they'd mitigate the screw-up. How badly would it affect the war effort? Did Hatake realize how weak he'd made them look?

He told Kakashi not to listen to any of it. It was all politicking, he'd said, and did Kakashi know what that meant? It was looking at a person without seeing them, without seeing their hearts. He said a Shinobi had no heart. A Shinobi was not a person, but a chess piece to be moved around at will, discarded at will.

He wouldn't blame Kakashi for hating him, he said. Nobody would hire him now. In their eyes, he was not worthy of being a thing, let alone a person. Kakashi ought to leave and find another Dad, a better Dad. This one was no good anymore.

This Dad drank. This Dad dropped things: cups and bottles and plates he was too wasted to clean. This Dad slept until well past noon, sometimes well past dark. Sometimes he locked Kakashi outside all day, in the hopes he'd leave and not come back. Or he'd simply forgotten he had a son. Kakashi would wait until he'd fallen asleep, then he'd quietly release all of the seals and barriers from outside and let himself in. He'd walk up to his father's futon, shove at his shoulder with a foot, and glare at him when he woke up.

He'd come home to a sealed, dark house, no dinner, and a mess left for him to clean. And his dad just sighed and smiled and asked him how his day was. Was he making friends?

Like nothing had happened, like everything was normal, and it made Kakashi want to scream. He couldn't understand why he was acting like this: like a child. Like someone Kakashi's age was supposed to act. This wasn't the way things should be, but the way things were. Without Mom around, Kakashi was going to have to do everything. He was going to have to be the adult.

And he didn't want to be. "Dad," he said, and it took every ounce of his strength to say that word. "Dad, did you eat anything today?"

It was like all the lights had come on in a room. His eyes seemed to refocus and really look at Kakashi for the first time in a long time, and he sat up. "No," he said. "Would you like something?"

They had take-out that night, which they almost never did, and ate sitting out on the porch. Fireflies winked off/on against the dark grass, and the dogs pretended they were far above chasing them. Father didn't say anything about looking for work again, and Kakashi didn't ask. Things were too perfect at that moment, too precipitous balanced, and to say anything would have upset everything.

The next morning, Dad was sat in the kitchen with his hands cupped around his coffee mug, like he did sometimes before seeking a mission. Only there was no mission; not for him. He hadn't shaved, hadn't washed, hadn't bothered changing his clothes, and when Kakashi passed him on the way out--unlike Dad, Kakashi worked--he looked surprised. Oh, was Kakashi still there?

He felt less like a son than a guest. A room-mate. A housekeeper. And he wasn't sure who belonged less, himself or this person who wore his father like a skin, like an old tee-shirt. Logically, this was all somehow Kakashi's fault. Not his fault the mission had failed and his Father had fallen into disgrace, but his fault that he couldn't make everything better again.

His fault that, instead of saying 'good-bye' or 'I'll be back' or even 'I love you', Kakashi said nothing. He hooked his thumb into the door-latch, sucked in his breath, and pulled. His fault. He forgot to think about him that day, and he forgot to say 'I'm back'. He threw pebbles at the chickens on his way past. His fault. He sucked in his breath and hooked his thumb in the latch and pulled.

He'd forgotten groceries. His fault. He was late getting back, and he was just going to grab some money and run to the conbini. And the house was still when he walked inside. There wasn't a single light on anywhere. And it was too much to hope he'd gone out. The dogs were nervous and whining and stuck to his legs like they'd been static charged; no-one had walked or fed them, and they'd clearly been destroying the house. They'd been scratching desperately to get out, but wouldn't leave when Kakashi held the door open. They just furrowed their faces and milled in circles until he followed them to the kitchen. And he was pissed at having to feed them again. Pissed that the kitchen was just as he'd left it.

Dad's mug was still on the table, and his spoon, and his newspaper. And Kakashi felt a rush of anger, like bile, because he never ever cleaned up. Because Kakashi had to do everything, and it was wrong. It was all wrong. Dad was lying curled up in the middle of the floor and that, too, was wrong. And Kakashi felt another rush of anger, and another, and he thought he'd better be sleeping. He didn't know what he'd do. But he'd better be asleep. And the dogs were even more anxious, and there was even urine on the floor, and blood, and Kakashi knew he wasn't just sleeping.

He pulled the knife out first, and he felt numb all over. He felt sick. He threw up a lot, and he blubbered and tried not to listen to himself. He wasn't a child anymore, so what good would crying do? He sent the dogs outside, and he scrubbed up as best he could, and he stuffed it all down. He opened the windows and dragged the blood-soaked mat outside. He yelled at the dogs when they returned. He didn't want them going back in the house. He didn't want anyone going in.

"It's alright," Sensei told him, and he sounded just as sick and as panicked as Kakashi was trying not to be. "Tell me what happened."

He'd brought medics with him, Kakashi saw, and realized Pakkun must have said something, or someone had noticed the blood on their paws, and they all looked at him. And he wished he could disappear. He felt like he would, like he'd become transparent as he led them inside, and he wasn't really there, and none of this was really happening.

The clear crisp light picked out every detail in the room, every mote of dust, every stain. Every hair on every dog's coat. Every eye upon him. It was supposed to be a beautiful day. The kind of day perfect for shuriken practice or snapping wax-beans. Canning beets while the radio struggled to pick up stations. Covertly making faces at his father's singing. Never once thanking him.

"It's alright," they said. "It's alright if you want to cry."

He wouldn't, though. His face had finally frozen, and no more tears would come.

There was no point in it now. There was never any point.


	2. Comrades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obito asked a lot of troublesome questions.

He had vague memories of an inheritance and provisions made, everything taken care of over his head, behind his back.

It wasn't important where he stayed when not on missions; wherever it was, they made sure he was comfortable and had everything he needed. Maybe he was spoiled, maybe he was secretly despised. He didn't care. When he made the announcement that he'd be moving back into the family home, nobody argued. Sensei helped him make the arrangements, told Kakashi he could always call on him if he needed to.

"You're very brave to want to do this, Kakashi," he said. "But if it becomes too much--"

"Thanks, but I can handle it."

He was a Chuunin, as good as adult by Konoha's standards. He only cried the first few nights; after that, he was fine. He cleaned and cooked and did his own mending, just as he always had. He took out the garbage and paid his bills on time. He opened a savings account with the money his team earned doing C and B missions, and he never once asked for help. Though help was given to him in small ways, left on his windowsill without fanfare in the form of clean tools and uniforms; fresh produce; tacky little drawings, no doubt meant to cheer him up; and books, lots of books.

Because old man Jiraiya wasn't sure where his interests lay--and he could never keep his big nose out of anyone's business--he'd gotten him a good variety. Most of it was romance, and a lot of it was terrible, and Kakashi wasn't sure he _had_ 'interests'; but he did like to read. He liked words, and he liked solitude, and it didn't matter if it was all trash. A gift was a gift, and in wartime, you took whatever escape you could.

It took him an entire season to finish them all. It would have taken longer, but he'd learned to read with one eye on the page and the other on lookout while he walked. It was weird, Obito said. Everything he did was weird. What was so interesting about some boring romance novel, anyway? Was Kakashi secretly a girl? Was that why he kept covered up?

Obito asked a lot of troublesome questions. If he had time to do that, Kakashi reasoned, he had time to be doing something more productive.

"Like reading," Obito challenged.

No, like organizing his kit, which Kakashi and Rin had already done hours ago. Or he could tend the fire instead of leaving Rin to do it alone. There was a number of things Obito could be doing that didn't involve his being in Kakashi's proximity, staring at him like he expected to be entertained. Like he believed Kakashi _was_ secretly a girl, and fancied him.

He turned red at that. Beet red. That night, Obito made sure to place his bed roll as far from Kakashi's as he could, 'til he was practically up a tree. But over the following days and nights, he'd gradually, sloppily ended up a bit closer; until he was too close, and Kakashi told him so, and the whole awkward dance had begun again. Annoying, but it gave him something to focus on beyond the endless drudge-work of perimeter detail.

They were two days into a one week stretch, when Obito pointed out how small their country looked on his world map. If it took them seven days to walk all the way around, then scale-wise, it would take them a life-time to walk around the world. Could Kakashi imagine that? Having to secure the entire world's perimeter? How much wire did he suppose that would take? They'd store it all in scrolls, of course. But how many? And on and on he went like that, endlessly, until Kakashi thought he'd go mad. Until he became so focused on what Obito was saying, he mislaid a wire and had to redo his entire section.

So he made up a rule: Obito wasn't allowed to ask questions. He wasn't allowed to 'posit' things, either. No knock-knock jokes. No asking if something was edible. No asking if something was infected. Their mission was straight-forward enough, and easy enough, that a monkey could do it. If Obito had to ask whether or not he should do something, the answer was most probably NO.

He would find loopholes--of course he would--but it kept him busy, and in an odd sort of way, it kept all of them sane. As much as Kakashi liked to pretend otherwise. As much as Obito cursed him for a self-important little prig. As much as Rin struggled to keep the peace. As much as things broke down between them, they had rules for a reason, and if they all followed (if Obito followed, that was) they'd get along and maybe they'd even survive.

Rule number two: Obito would be punctual. Meetings commenced on time, either with or without him, but preferably with him. 'Helping a Genin locate TARFUN training ground' was not a valid excuse for being late. If Obito was not at the designated spot on time for deployment, he was to be left behind.

No bonus points would be awarded for Obito arriving early, especially not at the wrong location. No bonus points would be awarded for Obito arriving early, at the correct location, and attempting to lie in ambush. No points at all would be awarded for having a shadow clone show up in his stead; if he had motivation and forethought enough to make one, he had motivation and forethought enough to be there on time and in person.

Penalties would be awarded for Obito deploying twenty-four hours early and insisting his fellow cell-members accompany him to 'get the good seats'. If it happened once more, especially during dinner hour, Kakashi would see him demoted back to Genin, even if it entailed bribery.

Rule number three: Obito could not lodge complaints against his commanding officer (Kakashi) according to the Conduct of Detained Enemy Combatants, as Obito--despite all best efforts to prove the contrary--was not an enemy combatant. Nor was he being held against his will. He was to see all D and C-rank missions through to completion, no matter how tedious. He was to sign any and all reports pertaining to said missions using his full real name: not Uchisomething, not Kousoku Sentai Turboranger, and not Yondaime Hokage. He was not to use the little red smiley-face as his personal hanko stamp.

Rule number four: Obito would be responsible for all of his own tools, weapons, and rations. He would pack only what was needed for the mission's duration--no more, no less--and was not permitted to rent or borrow food items from his fellow cell members as the situation demanded. He would not attempt to set up a localized barter-system using boxes of candy cigarettes or rolls of toilet paper. He would not offer to 'sell his body' to the next wealthy dowager they encountered in the absence of candy cigarettes or toilet paper. This was not that kind of mission, and Obito was to return Kakashi's book immediately if he valued his safety.

There is no such thing as a left-handed shuriken. Obito would use the ones he was given.

Rule four-b: Though they were permitted some flexibility in terms of official dress, toilet slippers were in no way approved foot-wear. If a Shinobi misplaced his ninja-zori, he could, should, would toughen up and go barefoot. Dropping caltrops earned him no leniency, and was just stupid, especially if they all saw him do it. Especially if he hid Kakashi's zori to prove a point.

Rule number five: Obito was to remain reachable and in contact at all times. A can on a string was not a valid communication device, nor would the other cell members be forced to carry such items 'in case of emergency'; nor would their captain, no matter how charming he seemed to find it. (Well, they did call the headsets cans, didn't they?) They were not competing for charm points.

They were soldiers and they were expected to act as such.

Humorless and sad, and would it honestly kill him to smile?

Item number thirty-one in the List of Things Obito Is Not Allowed To Do: 'One day, you'll look back on all this and laugh' was not an acceptable form of apology.

* * *

The one cardinal rule for any assignment was: never complain, never explain. If conditions were less than ideal, or one had little sleep, or was ill, or the client turned out to be a nightmare, one must simply bear up and muster it. If things went wrong, if someone got injured, got killed, one had no excuse.

Because chance favored the prepared mind, one saw every possible outcome and acted accordingly.

Because odds favored the person with nothing to lose, one was prepared to make sacrifices.

A Shinobi was a tool. A Shinobi had no heart.

A Shinobi was not a hero. That wasn't why Obito did what he did. For all his talk of being great, of having a monument erected to him some day--and Kakashi would never forget how he giggled at the word 'erected'--it wasn't for the acclaim. There was no acclaim for those that broke the rules, but for those that fought well and died well. For those that exceeded expectations, there were posthumous awards.

For Obito, there would be a monument. Not really his style--too somber, too cold--but it seemed morbidly fitting, Kakashi thought.

It was much nicer than the stone under which he'd died.

* * *

Kakashi's new eye often ached at night.

There were no signs of rejection; not after the first few days, and not after a month. Rin was always checking to make sure, face etched with deep worry lines as she had him look right, left, up, down. And he hoped she wasn't going to cry. Not while looking at him with that stony frown. It was fine, he told her, he shouldn't have mentioned it. He took the medicines she'd given him--antibiotics and immunosuppressants, anti inflammatories and drops and supplements--and tried not to picture it going milky and dying inside his eye-socket. He tried not to picture infection blackening his nerve-roots and poisoning him from the inside out. He'd never imply he wanted it to reject and then kill him.

He was a monster if he wished that.

Rin wanted to understand. She wanted him to talk about it. In all the time since they'd come back from that mission, no-one else had offered to do that. The day after, he'd sat and said nothing while a white-gloved medic peeled back his eyelid like an orange skin and glared into his skull. They weren't interested in how he felt. They weren't interested in how Rin felt. They weren't interested in how he'd managed to shut down and block it all out. One way or another, they'd get the information, find out how it was done, and then they'd get bored with Kakashi and leave him be. And then he wouldn't have to talk, he wouldn't have to deal.

He'd be able to stuff it back down, and it would stop feeling so much like he was waiting for something awful to happen.

For a bomb to go off in the village square. Burnt bodies and gutted buildings, twisted rebar and windows caked with ash.

He'd stop waking to the sound of rain and thunder, and immediately diving out of bed, searching for whatever could be used as a weapon.

He'd stop having to patch up or replace the furniture damaged by his chidori.

Or he'd stop hearing enemy footfalls while he crouched in the latrine, and he wouldn't have to hold his breath--t.p. in one hand, a kunai in the other--and pray no-one would burst in and kill him before he was done.

He'd stop sending his dogs to find Rin and Sensei every time they were more than a minute late, fearing they were dead or captured, or they'd abandoned him. And eventually, he'd be able to sleep more than three hours straight. Eventually, he'd learn to stuff it down so far, he'd appear almost functional again, so he'd have even himself fooled.

Then he'd use the sharingan. Once, twice, then he'd lose count. He'd learn how to split the ground like they did in Rock Country, and he'd collapse, face-down, breaking two front teeth and cutting his tongue. He'd wake up on the ground. On a bench. In his own bed. He'd wake up in the hospital with a worried dog lying across his legs, and Rin looking pale and angry at his bedside.

She was worried, Sensei explained, and did Kakashi think he was being fair to her? After all, it was Rin who healed him. It was always Rin. He'd promised to protect her, but always it was he who needed protecting. The eye was dangerous, they told him, because he wasn't Uchiha by blood. He couldn't really control it, couldn't shut it off. Once activated, it sought at and grabbed chakra signatures like a curious infant. It didn't know from good or bad, couldn't distinguish 'food' from 'poison'. All it knew to do was suck, and it would drain him dry if he let it.

(In the future, people would speak in awe of the time he cut a lightning bolt in two. What they wouldn't speak of was afterwards. Five minutes of chest compressions, Rin crying, Sensei breathing for him because Rin couldn't.)

He was too young to have that much of a death-wish, said Jiraiya-sensei, and don't try and bullshit an expert bullshitter. He must have something worth protecting if he was willing to go that far. Someone, perhaps?

There was no-one, he said. Because he couldn't protect anything. Because Rin didn't need him after all. She was strong enough on her own. Kakashi was just one more useless thing, and he'd only end up dragging her down.

Jiraiya-sensei nodded and frowned and said: "the way you are now? Without a doubt." Then he flicked Kakashi between the eyes.

"For an alleged genius, you know, you can be pretty thick sometimes."

* * *

The day of Rin's funeral--a day of holes punched in walls, of mats ripped from floors--he felt Jiraiya-sensei's hand heavy on his shoulder, and he said it was alright. It was just dust in his eye. He wasn't a child, and what good would crying do?

It was just dust in his eye the day Minato-sensei was killed, and dust in his eye when Gai hit him for trying to act cool. He wasn't crying. And what good was it if Gai started in, saying foolish things like 'he'd cry for the both of them'? It was no longer about his self-control. He had none. It was simply useless. His feelings were useless and only served to weigh him down. But if Gai wanted to cry, he could go ahead and cry 'til he drowned.

He could cry Kakashi a fucking river and sail a fucking boat on it if he liked. If he expected to see tears, he was looking at the wrong person.

Gai asked, are you sure?

Kakashi hit him. It was the first and last time he'd ever get away with it.


	3. TARFUN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As ANBU, he completed missions to the letter. He did as he was ordered. He never made mistakes.

"This! What is this?" Gai thundered, slapping his broad plank of a hand down atop the mission desk. "This thing covered in dirt and blood...this couldn't be Kakashi-san's report!"

Kakashi sighed and doggedly shoved the paper--what showed of it--back at him. "Look. Please. It's legible enough, isn't it?"

"Ah, yes, what little I can read of it." He looked up ruefully, with the weight of several mountains atop his green-clad shoulders. "Kakashi," he said, quiet even for him. "Tell me, what is this?"

"Gai-san."

"Kakashi."

Alright, he was never known as a whiner, and no sense in spoiling that now. "It's mine," he said calmly. "If you'd just read the report, you'll see I turned the package over unharmed." Mostly unharmed, that was, but alive, so why quibble semantics? He just wanted to go home and soak the dirt from his cuts. He wasn't looking for a debate.

"As expected of the Green Beast's rival," Gai said levelly. "But to return in such a state--"

He was interrupted by a gentle cough and prod from his neighbor. "There's a line forming, Gai-senpai."

Kakashi used that opportunity, however brief. He sketched a smile and a graceful retreat, and left Gai watching him from the sheltering confines of that desk.

Thankful though he was for the concern and the distraction, his wounds where his own to worry about, and this mountain his own to bear. He at least hoped Gai and the others understood not to meddle. As long as he completed his missions, Kakashi came and went as he pleased, when he pleased, and nobody else got hurt.

As ANBU, he completed missions to the letter. He did as he was ordered. He never made mistakes. He was more than just part of the system, he was forged by it, immutably dyed by its colors: white for bone, red for blood, black for duty, and all of it stained drab with dust, dirt, exhaustion. One could always tell where he'd been, Sarutobi-sensei remarked, by the trail of staggered, muddy footprints.

For which he apologized, chagrined. It was one thing for Gai to notice and give him flak, another for the Hokage; and he'd noticed enough to have fresh runners put in his office.

"You do look a sight, old boy," he'd sighed. "Has that eye been giving you trouble again?"

No, Kakashi assured him; and no, he was bearing up just fine. Really. He was sorry for the mess; he'd be more careful next time. Or, at the very least, he'd stop to hose himself off.

The old man leveled him a shrewd stare. "A rug can be easily replaced," he said. "Do take better care of yourself, Kakashi...."

Because nobody else would. And what good was a broken tool?

Obito would have said he was more than that. He wasn't some tool to be used and cast aside, and he wasn't losing his edge. He'd have promised, or he'd have socked Kakashi in the mouth for looking sour and feeling sorry for himself. Because, really, how many more times could he apologize over the memorial and still expect it to mean something? He was sorry he'd let the flowers wilt in the rain, and he was sorry for the way he looked, and sorry for snapping at Inuzuka when she suggested his injury was serious enough that he ought to slow down. That he was being a brat. That he'd perhaps be better left behind. He was sorry that, without Rin, without Obito there to keep him in check, he could still be quite rotten to people. He was sorry, he meant no harm, but it was all to no end.

He was not a better person for any of what he'd seen, and he'd be lying if he said otherwise. He was a good Shinobi, to be sure, but a good Shinobi was not necessarily a good person, or a suitable friend. He proved this by continually dodging Gai for a week after handing in that form.

Gai being Gai, this only spurred him on. He finally cornered Kakashi outside the Hokage's office, and was met with yet another bloodied, barely legible mission report.

"I'm required to hand this in personally," Kakashi said, standing hip-shot so as not to put pressure on his injured leg--he never made mistakes; he made sacrifices. "But since you seem so eager...."

He was sure Gai was going to deck him again, just as sure as he was he'd deserve it. But Gai just stood there with his fists clenched, staring in mute horror at the saturated paper.

"Don't worry," Kakashi told him. "Only some of it's mine."

One day, he would look back on it all and laugh, and marvel at the fact that Gai still had not run screaming in frustration. That he still had it in him to care.

Kakashi smiled, and it meant nothing, was empty. His eyes saw right through everyone and everything, and reflected nothing back.

Dead fish eyes, Raidou-senpai called them, as if the soul had been sucked from his body.

The way Raidou looked, his had been sucked out and put back slightly askew. Unlike Kakashi, his left eye was a fake, and he saw no need to keep it or the scars beneath it covered. His left eye saw nothing and nobody; his right eye saw Kakashi, saw right through him to the space his heart should be.

"Keep it up, Hatake," he muttered as Kakashi limped past. "I don't want to have to counsel you, but I will."

"Duly acknowledged." And duly observed. He didn't feel much like smiling anymore, anyway.

They all received counseling at one time or another--a talk or a slap across the head, it was all the same, and no great shame. The support and encouragement of one's peers was where the Leaf differed from other villages, and a few simple questions--or a well aimed elbow--could mean the difference between life and death. Kakashi knew why they had systems in place, and he knew they'd had an eye on him from the beginning.

As ANBU, he was trained to hide and keep things in check. His seniors had no real way of knowing if or when he'd go off the rails, so they'd always treat him like it was immanent. Like he was fragile goods, to be handled with care. They treated him kindly because he, with his precious Sharingan, was both useful and dangerous, and he resented them all for it.

But he did as he was told, and lived very comfortably as a result.

On his twentieth birthday, he was given a 'down-to-earth' chat about the three demons of vice: money, women, and alcohol. Then he was handed a pair of drink tickets and a wrapped condom, and told not to spend it all in one place.

"Way to shut the barn door after the horse has left," Kurenai said. "Come drinking with us tonight!"

"Yes, come drinking!" Gai lugged an arm around his shoulders. "We'll counsel Kakashi-san with beer."

"And shochu!"

"And karaoke!"

If it was all the same, he wanted to say, he planned to spend a quiet night alone with his books. If it was all the same, there was someone else he wanted to share drinks with. But Gai had gotten his hooks in and wasn't about to let go. He had no idea what he was about to unleash.

After an hour long ramble about Nietszche, Zen, and the unbearable lightness of Kirin when compared to Asahi, Kurenai gave up on them and decided to call it a night, leaving a sloppy drunk Gai to his fate.

"Ka--kashi-kun sure does talk a lot," he chuckled nervously around the lip of his bottle.

Oh yes, once he was properly warmed up, Kakashi was the life of the party. Everybody's darling. He leaned conspiratorially into Gai's shoulder. So warm, so firm. So, the bar was packed pretty tightly, and there were a lot of shoulders pressed together, but he promised this shoulder was a most excellent one. No, he wasn't just saying that. Listen.

"Listen," he said, "this is the thing...if someone came into your room at night and asked you, if they said you had to relive the same day over again...."

Gai-san's eyes were on him like magnets. The night above them was full of lights, and music, and heat, and he laughed and said "ah, Yuuhi-kun is missing something amazing!"

Later on, Kakashi would wake back at his apartment with a hangover and a split lip, and hazy memories of the night before. Careful, desperate inventory amongst those present revealed he hadn't done anything too debaucherous, but Gai wouldn't stop looking at him. Staring earnestly into his eyes in a way that made the room ten degrees warmer; that made his lip throb.

"Come drinking tonight," he'd say. "Tell me again about those unbearable things!"

Because a drunk Kakashi was a fun Kakashi, he'd discovered, and he wasn't about to let something that amazing slip through his fingers. Oh no. He was going to nurture and cultivate it. He was going to, as he so magnanimously put it, help make him a man. He'd teach Kakashi how to walk like a man, damn it! How to talk like a man! Be more direct, less polite, he'd say. Kakashi kissed like girl, and that was alright if he really swung that way, but he'd have to act differently if he hoped to earn any respect.

It was a load of bullshit, Kakashi thought, and did Gai ever stop to listen to himself? But ever so often he'd pick up a tab, and who was Kakashi to look a gift horse in the mouth? He could be direct when he wanted to. When he'd had enough, he told Gai what an ass he was being, and maybe he kissed like a girl, but any girl was twice the kisser Gai was. Interests aside, and mask aside, Kakashi showed he had ample evidence on that front. The girls loved him. The boys loved him. And he never even had to try. He just wagged his tail and submitted to petting, and Gai's shoulder was left very very cold.

Thus began their rivalry, and Gai began to see that a truly drunk Kakashi was not all that fun. A truly drunk Kakashi was vicious. True, he knew how to laugh, how to smile, but it all had an edge to it. He'd tell you exactly what he thought, and he was never wrong. At his worst, he was a complete mess of bile and judgment and self-pity. But he thought he kept a good balance, and didn't go that way too often.

When Kakashi was at just the right level, he was the philosopher, and would wax pithy on how his life path had diverged. The split was by no means neat. It was jagged, and there were small flakes missing around the edges. It was like a road broken in two, his past stretching far into the distance while his future seemed to shrink and compact before him. Like a sort of karmic doppler effect.

"Because the closer they are to you," he explained, "the tighter the sound waves stack." Or possibly, he was full of crap. There was no future past the end of the bar, and all the present he saw was now drying in a ring on his napkin. And he couldn't hear how much he was slurring.

He wondered what Obito would have to say about his behavior. Would he be chagrined? Would he simply laugh it off? How much a difference would it make, were it his shoulder Kakashi ended up clinging to; his hand rubbing strong circles into the spot between Kakashi's shoulder blades after five too many; his rueful 'told you so' punctuating the silence between bouts of well-earned sickness? Were it not Gai or Kurenai, or some other hapless Jounin, would he be more or less ashamed at the shambles he'd become?

"I'm sorry, it isn't you...."

"I know that," Gai rumbled, firmly pulling him up and dusting him off. "This is not you either. The Kakashi I know is much stronger." He gave Kakashi a whack to prove it, utterly flooring him.

He was not strong. He was not himself. He wasn't sure who he was, what he was out to prove. This was the springtime of his youth, but he felt like an angry old man. And his apologies meant nothing, his lips sowed nothing but lies into the mouths and ears of those girls, those boys. (Oh, of course I like you best. Of course, I find you sexy.)

And he wasn't sorry. His slurred apologies and his shame was not for them, not for Gai. Nor were they for Tenzou, who waited steadfastly at the same local tea-spot every day, without fail, for a hungover Kakashi to come sheepishly scratching his head. For yet another round of excuses.

Never complain, never accept blame.

"Please tell me you didn't sleep by the shrine again, senpai."

"The ground was rather warm last night," Kakashi sighed, slouching onto a corner of the bench opposite. "I only meant to rest my eyes a minute."

Tenzou gave him a terrible, dead stare, as if he could suck the soul right out of his body. "Did you bother to come to the briefing at all?"

"I listened in," said Kakashi. "I didn't wish to cause an interruption."

Tenzou wilted. "Ah, what shall I do," he muttered, like he was dealing with a difficult toddler, rather than his co-captain. "Senpai, when you're late, I take the blame along with everyone else! Please, try and consider my feelings?"

Kakashi smiled and waved over one of the servers. "My apologies, vice-captain."

Though there were no official ranks within the ANBU cooperative--save the commanders and the Hokage who issued their orders--Kakashi considered young Tenzou his lieutenant. He was quick, smart, and had a remarkable capacity for putting up with and standing up to his senior's bullshit.

"I wonder if you really mean that," he sniffed. "And please, while off duty, address me by my name."

"Tenzou-kun," he amended, and turned, with what would later seem like agonizing slow-motion, to order. "An iced pomegranate, please--"

"Afternoon," Genma said genially, just a hot and terrifying centimeter from Kakashi's face. "We missed your esteemed presence this morning, Kakashi-kun."

"Ah--s-senpai!" He risked a slow sidelong look, but could see Tenzou wouldn't be of any help. The little snit. He'd flagged over another server already, and started to order.

Tea and dango for one, please.

"Betrayer," Kakashi hissed.

Genma clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Oi, you should be looking this way," he said with a light jog. "Oi, Hatake, you feel tense. Worried about something?"

As a senior specialist, Genma did not technically outrank Kakashi, and he was only technically a bit bigger than Kakashi, but he could, and would, throw Kakashi clear across a room if he felt the situation demanded it. Lateness, insubordination, and a smart-mouth demanded it without a doubt. Sitting out on a debriefing? Demanded it, and hard.

"I'm not in any trouble, am I, senpai?"

"Trouble?" The corner of his mouth twitched. "This justifies ass-kicking to such a degree, they'd give me a medal for it. But you're not in any trouble."

No, what he was was dead.

 

* * *

Wall-to-wall counseling was not what you'd call an officially sanctioned procedure. Such a thing, according to Konoha's illustrious Shinobi system, did not exist to be sanctioned. If one acted up, discipline was a surety, and rank was no limiter.

If someone had a grievance against you, higher or lower, it didn't matter; they were free to lodge it with one of the seniors, who would then decide if action was required. Action could be anything from a slap across the head to a severe beating, depending on the nature and number of offenses, and of course, the offender was free to defend himself. That made it a fight, and though fights were frowned upon, they were not illegal.

The list of Kakashi's misdeeds was long and impressive, and so were the requisite forms that had been drawn up for the occasion. They were full of jargon, initialed anywhere an initial would fit, and officially stamped. Because specialists never did anything that was not initialed or stamped.

"You don't take a shit until you've had something stamped," Genma said.

Really, it was all a big joke--a way of quietly taking the piss, shoving the bureaucracy back in the bureaucrat's faces--and fighting was a way to ease the boredom and the tension when missions were thin on the ground. A grievance wasn't necessary, but it certainly helped set the mood. It certainly helped that Tenzou was willing, was eager to settle things.

He'd said to meet him after tea, at the TARFUN training ground. He'd smiled and promised to go easy on senpai, that although it wasn't in his nature to resort to rough tactics, he felt a bit of exercise might help them better understand one another.

Basically, Genma said, he was calling Kakashi out, and he'd be a coward to refuse. Also, as word got around, the other Tokujo had quite a betting pool going. If Kakashi were to forfeit, he'd earn more than just one person's ire.

And so he'd shown up, exactly ten minutes late, to put a sane and quiet end to things.

The stadium was empty, as it usually was between scheduled matches, and the stands deserted. The only reason they were able to get inside was because Genma--and only God knew why--had the keys.

He hadn't come alone, either, but had young Hayate backing him up with a bamboo practice-sword and a frighteningly solemn expression.

"With all due respect," said Hayate, "I think this is a terrible idea."

"But you agreed to back me up," Genma hissed through his teeth.

"That I did."

Genma scowled at him for a good beat, then back at Kakashi. "Your man here has a grievance against you," he said. "Official policy dictates we talk it out like reasoning adults, but I've always believed talk is cheap. So let's have the gist."

Hayate cleared his throat. "Hatake Kakashi stands accused of tardiness, absenteeism, disrespect towards his peers, and general laxity with regards to the code of conduct." He paused, a sharp frown etched between his brows, and coughed lightly. "It says here, also, that he...has a stupid face. His laugh sounds like that of a...rooting pig, and he never pays his fair share at meals."

Tenzou cocked his head at that, deferring to Kakashi with a carefully neutral non-expression.

"Ah--" Kakashi scraped at his ear. "I was a bit late again, true...but that was a tad over the line, don't you think?"

He knew Tenzou was sore with him--a lot of people were, with good reason. He knew it was about more than the debriefing and his unceremoniously throwing his loyal vice-captain under the cart-wheels. This was about more than his occasional tardiness.

Tenzou's smile turned chilly. "Senpai was more than a bit late," he grunted. "And it was hardly over the line."

"You're coming from a place of anger, now...."

"Yes," Tenzou hissed. "I believe that's the point. They say it's not healthy to bottle these things up."

"By all means, then," Kakashi prompted. "Go ahead and vent."

This was about his attitude and his coolness, and his lack of what Tenzou called 'clear communication'. It had been building a long time, and he'd been foolish enough to think things wouldn't come to a head. Foolish enough to think sorry was going to cut it anymore.

Though he was. Very sorry. If it helped at all, the ground hadn't been that warm, and his sleep had been miserable that night. He hoped it wouldn't reflect badly if he lost. He was rather tired, he said.

Tenzou's smile had evaporated. "This needs to be taken seriously," he said, annunciating every word, filing them each down to a nice sharp point.

"It's one thing to be continually late to meetings, senpai. It's one thing to leave your faithful subordinate to fend for himself before the Hokage--"

"And you acquitted yourself admirably," Kakashi said, digging his grave a bit deeper, one smile at a time.

"It's quite another thing," Tenzou spat, "if this were a mission in the field, senpai. Whether you have any consideration at all for my feelings--I was counting on you to have my back!"

As had Obito, Kakashi thought, as had Rin. And Genma was right: talk was cheap. Sorry was worthless. He'd thought Tenzou was being a bit dramatic at first, was always a bit dramatic, but the pain in his voice was genuine. His anger was palpable, and as he pitched into his stance, Kakashi could see he meant business.

He circled a few paces, eyes on Tenzou's hands, the line of his forward leg. He approached side-on, knowing he'd take a swing, knowing he'd try and follow through with a throw. "Can't we talk about this?" He offered. "Please, before pummeling senpai's face into the dirt?"

"By all means, talk." Tenzou feinted, cutting in a few introductory jabs to measure his response. Clearly telegraphed, easy to dodge. This was Kakashi's last chance, he seemed to say, so he'd better make it good. "Please tell me you had a good reason this morning. Tell me you ever do."

His next jab cut close, whistling past Kakashi's face, wrist meeting his deflecting palm with a loud smack. First his right, then his left. He got inside Kakashi's guard and let him lead the dance for a few tight paces, cutting and feinting and blocking. Trying to goad him into a serious hit.

"You were out drinking again last night," Tenzou jabbed. "I could smell it on you."

True, he was out drinking, and fairly late at that, but not so late or so much as Tenzou might think. He also never drank before a mission, and never would, and he knew he sounded full of excuses, but Tenzou had to believe him. He was not that low and he did not need the intervention, if that was what this was.

"I'm sorry, senpai." Another cut, another jab. He was pushing, still testing, ever cautious, Tenzou was. "I had not intended to spring it on you like this, but--"

"I've got it under control," Kakashi huffed, and he'd let his guard slip. He let the next jab cut even closer, glancing off the tender hollow of his wrist and into the join of his shoulder; a nasty blow, jolted like hell. He sucked back a yell and tossed an elbow.

Tenzou slapped it aside, swatting his arm down with a snarl. "Come on, senpai, you're not even trying!"

Not true. He was trying. Trying his hardest not to hurt Tenzou. Not to let himself be baited. Not to let this become personal. A light spar between comrades was one thing--and a well deserved ass kicking from a senior Shinobi another--but the second feelings entered the picture, the moment accusations started flying, one had a grudge match on their hands, and that was so very beneath them both.

As ANBU, they'd been trained to put personal feelings aside. Anger gave rise to hatred, and hatred gave rise to war, and was that what Tenzou wanted?

"No," he barked, "I just want to understand you."

He was deep inside Kakashi's guard now, grimacing as he swatted another elbow aside, reached for an arm-lock.

"I want us to work well together," he said, and his hand was hot on Kakashi's upper arm. His breath smelled of tea and mint. "And I want you to fight me like you mean it."

Kakashi pushed in and twisted free, shoving him back a pace with a sharp body-check, blocking his knee with a hip, with the meat of his thigh. "No, you don't," he said on a hard exhale, and he thought of what would happen if he let his guard down completely. He thought about letting Tenzou hurt him on purpose: A sharp knee to the groin, or a fist to the gut, a liver strike, a neck blow, a bloodied nose, a fractured jaw.

He knew where Kakashi was most vulnerable, what he guarded most closely, and he had every opening. But Tenzou believed in fighting fair. He believed in honor, rightness, and second chances, and he still believed in Kakashi's basic goodness despite his best efforts to prove the contrary.

He still believed he had a chance. "Trust me," he said. "I'm more than capable of handling myself."

Against an enemy ninja, yes. Against a cadre of shadow-clones, yes. Tenzou could be vicious when the situation demanded it. He'd tear out a man's heart if Kakashi gave the signal, or bind him and watch impassively while his seniors extracted information. Alone, he worked quiet and quickly, never took unnecessary risks, never second guessed himself, and never made mistakes. He was a fast, economical fighter when forced to engage, and Kakashi had yet to see him in any serious trouble. But still.

He let Tenzou's next strike whistle past, and was inside his guard, feinting a head-butt to throw him off balance, showing his tender young comrade how it was done. How this could never be a fair fight. How there was never any such thing between Shinobi. How badly he could hurt him if he wished: a quick grab, launching into that little bit of slack he'd left, and Kakashi caught hold of his wrists, swung him around skidding, and gave him the tiniest of sparks. The most token of jolts to prove a point.

Tenzou let out a wounded animal yell, shocked as expected. But he didn't jerk or pull away. He launched in, a split second of pure, blinding fury, and smashed his crown up into Kakashi's jaw. Sent his vision full of coppery tasting stars. Showed him the mistake he'd made in taking this lightly.

Of course, any idiot knew lightning was weak against earth. He didn't need an 'I told you so.' 

Tenzou caught him by the arms before he could stagger back, and by rights the match should've ended there. He should've manned up and conceded, and they could've ended things cordially; but Kakashi was still very much a slave to his pride, and even with the voice of his conscience--of Rin and Obito both whispering in his ears--he could not just let this one go. 

He followed through on his next feint, made it look like he was swooning, and rammed into Tenzou head-on. A direct hit. He saw blood this time, a sick and momentary satisfaction as Tenzou reeled away, his cheek sliced and his eye already swelling shut. Now it was a fight. Now it was personal. Now he felt well and truly monstrous. There was no gracefully bowing out of this now, and there'd be no intercession if Genma and Hayate knew what was good for them.

He was ready when Tenzou came bounding back, face serious, hands forming quick seals, and Kakashi saw him impaled, fingers punched clean through his back. He saw the chidori spitting in his palm, blood drops sizzling in the dirt, and he stopped. He froze. Of all the times--he barely registered the warning shout, and he was cursing himself. He wasn't in control anymore. He never had been.

The ground twisted and buckled underneath him, and he leaped clear, landed badly. He imagined the quick crush of a bolder landing on top of him. His bones would splinter and his organs rupture, and he'd be flattened. He supposed it wouldn't hurt. His spinal chord might be severed, or all his nerves damaged, and he'd go numb the instant it happened. It'd be just like going under anesthesia. Just like Obito.

And he let it wash over him, the crest of a crumbling wave with Tenzou at its peak. And in that split second, before things went all pear shaped, he thought he heard a voice. It was faint. But it was definitely his. He was saying--

"Run, you asshole!"

Sadly, again, Kakashi listened far too late.


	4. The Hurt Locker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'So says the wise man: stumble seven times, recover eight. Or at least, pretend you meant to do that.'

The hospital staff, when they arrived, did not seem at all surprised to see them. Where Kakashi and Genma were involved, the attending nurse snorted, nothing ever came as a surprise. She slid a pair of clipboards across the counter and sent someone to fetch a gurney. Tenzou eyed his forms with a grimace, then proceeded to fill them out left-handed.

Kakashi, propped chest down against the counter, raised an eyebrow. "You're ambidextrous," he said.

Tenzou smiled wanly. "Among my many talents, yes."

While they were both being led away for x-rays, Kakashi saw one of the younger nurses lean across the counter to ask Genma something. Who'd won, and was Gen-san free later on?

The pencil snapped in Tenzou's grip.

According to procedure, an incident report would be generated--further to the already laughable list of grievances, further initialed and further stamped, and shoved right back down their throats. The offending parties would be confined-to-grounds for a day or two, charged with menial chores, and generally babysat until their injuries healed.

Genma wouldn't discuss his own punishment, but Kakashi began to suspect from his mutterings--that he should've expected as much dealing with a pair of ANBU goons--that he and Tenzou were it.

"We've learned a very valuable lesson today," Kakashi agreed, frowning darkly for the benefit of no-one.

Due to the nature of some of his injuries, he was forced to lie on his stomach, which gave him a rather engaging view of the wall and headboard, but little else. Had to twist his head around to see if Genma was smirking as fatuously as he assumed, and that hurt far more than he'd like to allow. Far more than Tenzou landing on top of him. Far far more than the realization of just how badly he'd burnt the toast on that one.

He whimpered and knocked a few pillows onto the floor.

Genma sighed pityingly, which was far worse than his smirking. "Guess the painkillers haven't kicked in yet, huh?"

No, he nodded piteously, and he couldn't be mad at Genma just for being there. He'd gotten what he'd asked for, and it was unbecoming of him as a Shinobi to shift blame for the consequences. Unbecoming and downright childish to curse and punch pillows when, in essence, he'd kicked his own ass and this was only doing more of the same.

A part of him thought 'good', and another part thought he'd earned much worse. Still another part, the part that imagined what Obito might say, told him he'd look back on this one day, perhaps in the very near future, and laugh until he cried.

"On the bright side," said Genma. "Since you're hurt, you won't have to shovel manure?"

Neither would Tenzou with that arm. Kakashi had heard the bone break, had heard a lot of things break, and not one sound from his co-captain, not one yelp of pain, just a grunt of surprise as he'd sat up. His stoic face turned chalky gray. And he'd asked if Kakashi was alright. Was he able to stand up?

He remembered there being a moment, a second back there, where he'd tried and almost managed to convince himself he was fine. Just stunned. Because he'd just done something enormously stupid, just like when he was alone and fourteen and he'd split his forearm from wrist to elbow against the practice post, and it seemed too impossibly horrible to be that bad. Because the hospital seemed like a lot of trouble, and the reality of having to go there scared him more than the blood.

And it wasn't until he'd regained some of the feeling in his legs, until they'd gotten him up and let him limp a few steps--also very stupid, considering--that he felt the hot trickle down his thigh; then he realized he was pissing himself, and it was that bad. And he wondered if he really ought to be worried.

There came a knock, and Genma was cocking his head. Was it alright?

"Come in," Kakashi sighed.

The door creaked open hesitantly, Hayate eyeing the gap like he expected an ambush, while behind him, Tenzou stood stiff-backed and pale, his right arm held in a sling. His eyes, at first, on Kakashi, then flicking guiltily away.

"It's okay," Kakashi said. "We won't bite."

The door swung inward and the walls seemed to hold their breath, seemed to spell ambush, danger. Tenzou furrowed his brow, scrutinizing the floor like he expected it to open up and swallow him whole. Like he was prepared to make that a reality. Behind him, Hayate firmed his mouth and walked in grim match-step, resigned to share his fate.

And Kakashi could almost hear his father behind him, face carefully composed, going: 'what do we say?'

"Tenzou--"

"It's nothing," he interceded. "A hairline fracture. I've had worse."

He came closer, and he still looked a bit gray around the edges, a bit terrified. "How bad?" he asked anxiously. "I knew it wasn't wise to move you so soon! If--"

"It's alright," Kakashi said. "Though it hurts like hell, my back isn't broken."

"Then--"

"My ass is." His coccyx, to be exact. Broken and partially dislocated in two places, and a broad swath of scraped, bruised flesh above that. The numbness was the result of a nervous concussion, and that part he kept to himself. Because he'd been lucky by a hair. Any higher up, he'd have been paralyzed, perhaps permanently.

"I--broke your ass?" Tenzou warbled, his face gone a fetching shade of pink. Much more fetching than gray.

"Well, no," said Kakashi. "Technically, the fall did." His fault, his decision, and he ought to be relieved. He ought to be happy.

The medics had managed to reset the bone, and after several hours of forced cell-growth--during which he was not allowed to move, or scream--they were able to knit the break. Which he insisted wasn't that bad. It was the last two bones, the very tip. He was now like a dog with a docked tail. He was minus a little pride, but he'd live, and he was sorry Tenzou was injured because of him.

Though they'd both given in to anger, both acted out of spite, it was Kakashi's screwed up head--his pride, his panic, his stubbornness in keeping it all locked inside--that got them in this mess. Thus, his ass in a figurative sling, and one more mark on his record: now a growing list of the Things Kakashi Was Not Allowed to Do.

Not allowed to abandon his comrades. Not allowed to get his comrades hurt. Not allowed to put himself in danger, thus putting his comrades in danger as well. Not allowed to listen to anything Genma said, unless it was first cleared by Raidou or the Hokage. Not allowed to end up in hospital. Not allowed to make Tenzou worry.

Not allowed to make jokes about Tenzou's handedness, no matter how tempting.

"I haven't been a very good senpai," he said. "To be honest, I deserve your anger and I deserved to have lost. I'm sorry, lieutenant."

Tenzou scowled, face flinching like he'd been slapped, like the first time hadn't been warning enough. He said "don't be ludicrous! The truth is--" He looked around and nervously cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, Hayate-kun."

Hayate sketched a bow and a flurry of hand-signals, and vanished in a cloud of vapor.

Genma stayed put. He said anything Tenzou wished to say, he'd keep in confidence. No matter how embarrassing or incriminating. He swore on his ancestors, no matter how juicy the gossip was, he would not repeat it within Aoba's earshot.

Tenzou scowled harder at this, fingers curled white knuckled at the edge of his cast, and his nostrils flared, and his blush deepened. "Senpai, please, if you don't mind?"

"Come on," Genma groused. "Don't play like I don't know."

Tenzou went red. Beet red.

Genma brushed him off with a wave. "Not that," he said. "The other thing."

Tenzou brought a nervous hand to his mouth, his worst tell. "Well, senpai's drinking has been a little...excessive lately. Please, I don't wish this to feel like an ambush."

Though that was exactly how it felt. Like a boulder dropped straight down on his back.

"Honestly," said Tenzou. "I can't force you to change, but I wish you'd think about it. Think about what others have done for you, and how this affects them."

He did, and it felt horrible. But it wasn't enough to make him want to stop. Perhaps breaking his back would have, or perhaps it would've pushed him to drink even harder. Who could say? He did drink a respectable amount, but so did every other one of his peers. At every available opportunity, they drank themselves horizontal and into and out of one another's beds. Sometimes into the local gaol. Sometimes into the hospital. So how, then, was he the alcoholic?

"He's just worried about you," said Genma. "He ca--"

"It's not only me," he cut in sharply. "The rest of our comrades are all quite...well, I'm not sure concerned is the word. But they have a definite opinion of you, and it's not good!"

"You don't say," Kakashi drawled. "And how exactly have they been expressing said 'opinion'?"

Tenzou knuckled at his bottom lip. "Ah--mostly by way of threats, but I'm not sure how much credence I'd give any of it."

"Yes, considering they were probably drunk at the time." The hypocrisy no longer astounded him, but still, it stung. Having to hear it from his most trusted subordinate stung like hell.

"Kakashi--"

"So, when's the blanket party going to be? I'd like to know so I can dress appropriately."

"It's great you think this is all a joke," said Genma.

Tenzou made a sour face and said "Do you see either one of us laughing?" He said "they sounded pretty serious, pretty emotional about it, and if you think my ambush was harsh...just be thankful you're here right now, and not out there with them."

Kakashi groaned into his pillow, and really none of this was funny anymore.

He was hardly popular amongst the other ANBU, he knew. Tenzou aside, he did not make it a point to socialize with them, to drink with them, to have anything at all to do with them outside of work. He had not tried to learn their names or remember their faces. He had tried his hardest to appear not to care, and they were right to resent him for it.

Although he worked well alongside them, made sure they were safe, and made sure they came through each mission successful and unharmed, he wasn't a very good comrade. He could hardly smile and pretend otherwise, could hardly say this all came as a surprise.

Tenzou didn't think they'd try anything, especially not now, and perhaps this ought to be enough for him to examine his behavior. To reflect on his attitude.

"Kakashi," he said, voice low and serious. "I like working with you. I'd like to continue working with you. So, please...don't continue this way."

Or else, Kakashi thought, and Tenzou refused to say.

 

* * *

Word of Kakashi's 'accident' spread fast. He was out of the hospital by the next evening--much to his relief, and Tenzou's chagrin--and already he had well-wishers. So many of them. Such a wealth of consideration, he was frankly overwhelmed. People did care, though not enough to send flowers; enough, at least to be proper assholes about his predicament.

When he'd checked out, there were no fewer than a dozen inflatable donuts (and a box of the edible kind) waiting for him by the admission desk, and no cards attached; as no-one, certainly amongst his Jounin comrades, was that stupid.

Kakashi had some momentary satisfaction in popping the things, and asked Genma how many grievance reports he'd have to file to kick all of their asses. Would it take very long? Was Hayate available to back him up?

"Cute," said Genma. "You eat dinner, yet?"

No, and he wasn't very hungry. He just wanted to go home and sulk in peace for a while; to wallow in his shame without fear of being publicly judged and scrutinized. But he supposed that was a bit too much to ask. He supposed he wasn't being very gracious, either, and allowed that maybe his blood-sugar was low. He allowed that, maybe, he was being kind of a prick now that his humility and his painkillers had worn off; and he wondered why anyone still put up with him, why anyone still had the patience to think they could joke with him. He wondered just what it would take before they all gave up, and if that was what he really wanted.

Genma was a fairly nice, fairly easy-going guy; but his patience had strict limits, and it was only a matter of time, Kakashi supposed. Either he got fed up, or Raidou got fed up for him, and that would be it, and he felt pathetic for letting it bother him the way it did. For sticking to Genma's heels like a lonely stray begging for scraps.

As they walked, past the Admin building, past the Academy, Teuchi-san hailed from across the street. Loudly. "Ah, Kakashi-kun! How's your...you know what feeling?"

Kakashi smiled a very forced smile that no-one would believe if they could see it, and graciously thanked Teuchi-san for his concern. He would love to stop for some ramen, but he was short on time. "Perhaps--"

"One is never too short on time to eat," Teuchi insisted. "That's the trouble with you Shinobi, always rushing about. Sit, sit!"

He'd had Genma by the word 'eat'.

Kakashi sank back into the shade of the familiar white banner, and dutifully rolled his mask down. "Well," he sighed, and so he looked miserable, so who cared? "I suppose it wouldn't kill me."

"Then quit acting like you're gonna die." Genma prodded him. "I'm starting to feel a bit unloved here, you know? As your senior, I think I deserve at least the appearance that you give a shit."

Kakashi sighed more deeply and shifted about on his stool. In hindsight, he should not have been so quick to destroy those donuts. "I was once a respected senior," he said hollowly, hand moving on autopilot towards the chopstick cannister.

He knew he was being a brat, and he knew he was on the fast track to another counseling session. Which was why the ramen stand still stood after Genma pinched his cheek.

He just winced and held still until Genma let go.

Genma was normally big on conserving energy, never moving or troubling unless it was utterly unavoidable. Raidou said it was because he valued caution; that approaching things with deliberation and forethought were the qualities one needed to be a great Shinobi; that if one lay in wait a long time, the enemy would never see an attack coming. Kakashi believed that. He also believed Genma was lazy as shit, and had to be extraordinarily motivated to display that kind of speed.

"The next one's free," he promised, square bladed palm poised to strike again. "Self-pity doesn't suit you, Hatake."

"Kakashi, if you don't mind."

"Sweetheart," he amended, using his teeth to lazily separate his chopsticks. "Nobody's perfect. Everybody fucks up."

Not in ANBU. Not if one wished to live for very long.

Quickness to anger, weakness of will, hastiness and rash judgment--all of those things could get you dead, could put your team-mates in peril, could spoil a mission. As a once respected senior, as a so-called genius, it was Kakashi's job to keep his hot-headed young cohorts in line--when he wasn't ignoring them in favor of his reading--and his job to be the bigger man. The better fighter. The better everything.

Genma folded his hands prayer-style, chopsticks tucked under his thumbs, and aimed the wedge between Kakashi's eyes, sighting him like a target. "So says the wise man: stumble seven times, recover eight. Or at least, pretend you meant to do that."

"This is true," Teuchi vouched. "Why, just earlier, I misread the expiration date on a jar of miso-paste. The broth was no good, no good at all! But I'd made too much to let it go to waste. Would you like to know what I did?"

"No," said Genma, now not so serene. "I'm not sure we do."

"I turned a negative into a positive," Teuchi continued, undaunted. "I offloaded it all to the prison! At a very discounted price, mind you. And wouldn't you know, I haven't heard a single complaint."

"Alright, see," Genma nodded appreciatively. "That is fucked up."

Teuchi tossed off a shrug. "I fucked up."

"And nobody died...that we know of," Genma said. "Rule number fifty of the official, unofficial rule-book: something will always go wrong. You will fuck up. You will get your ass handed to you. But as long as nobody's died, you will consider it a learning experience and move on. Stumble seven times, recover eight."

"And leave no witnesses," Kakash muttered behind his hand.

Genma poked him. "Not unless they're willing to back your ass up."

Teuchi nodded solemnly and wiped his hands on his apron. All was well and good. "Now, you two. What would you like to order?"

After covering the check, which was graciously discounted, Genma fitted a skewer between his teeth and said "walk with me." Like it wasn't up for debate. Like he was about to let the other shoe drop.

Like he was on a mission.

So Kakashi gave with a sigh and followed, down a series of cobbled sidewalks and filthy alleyways, to a street that just as easily could have been reached down the main road.

"There's persimmons growing there in that cut-through," Genma pointed out above Kakashi's groans. "Come on. If we're lucky, we might beat the other pickers!"

"I'm not a big fan," he lied, though really, he used to pick them all the time with his Dad.

He'd eaten them dried, candied, pickled, and churned into ice-cream. He'd loved pitching them at the chicken coop whenever he was angry, and that, surprisingly, was what hurt the most. Those stupid birds. And why the hell had that come up all the sudden?

What was wrong with him, lately?

"That's alright," Genma said, tilting his head back to gage the height, "they're not for you, brat." He shoved his hands in his pockets, hedging as they strolled down the alleyway.

He said he just wanted to talk, and he wasn't sure Ichiraku was the best place.

"If it's about that," Kakashi said, Tenzou had already made it clear they had no cause for concern. It really was nothing more than a show of over-emotional posturing, nothing more than his final warning, and he was not going to be fragged on his next mission. "My comrades may not exactly like me--"

Genma raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Kakashi paused short, tucked his hands in his pockets as Genma had done.

"It's not them," said Genma. "It's Tenzou. How long have you two worked together?"

"Two years exactly," Kakashi said, and to be honest, he wouldn't be surprised if the Lieutenant hated his guts, would do his best to pretend it didn't bother him. "Why do you ask?"

Genma whistled out a sigh. "He's been hanging around, lately, asking me all kinds of stuff."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Like what your hobbies are, stuff you like, stuff you hate. Why you're so damn distant all the time. If you've got anyone else you consider close."

"Tenzou said all that?"

"Yeah," Genma said, again exasperated. "I knew you ANBU weren't the most socially adjusted people, but really."

Kakashi bristled and cracked a few knuckles. "I'm plenty well adjusted," he muttered. "Considering."

"Yeah, considering," said Genma. "You've had this guy pretty much in your back pocket for two years, and he doesn't know thing one about you. I mean, has he even seen your face?"

He cracked another few knuckles, this time less a warning than he was too distracted to stop. "Considering," he muttered. "Yes, considering it's not attached...and considering we've showered together."

"Considering you're not totally clueless," said Genma. "What's he like?"

Like? What was he like? Kakashi faltered, because Tenzou was like Tenzou. He was familiar. And his body was off-limits. "Senpai," he reproached. "I wouldn't think he's your type."

He laughed at that, leaning in towards Kakashi, hip-shot. "I plead no comment," he said.

"Senpai!"

"Tch, don't senpai me," Genma ticked, leaning back to sight up into the branches. "My name's Genma."

Kakashi slipped his hands from his pockets and cocked one to his hip. "Your name's going to be mud in a second," he threatened vaguely. "You should know it's not wise to fraternize with another man's subordinate."

"You don't say," said Genma, deliberating, gaging his feet. Spitting into his palms. "Anyway, I'm not the one he's interested in."

He took a great loping bound, hooked onto one of the tree's lower limbs and hoisted himself up with a grunt. Clawing himself up with deliberation, like a bear after a bee-hive. He said "after two years, you should at least have a clue."

After what had pretty much amounted to a confession back at the hospital, he should have all the evidence he needed and then some. "He likes you," said Genma. "He honest-to-god cares about you. Ordinarily, I'd say the whole fraternization deal's overrated--"

Not overrated, but extremely inadvisable! "Whatta you think I am, mad?" Kakashi barked, a whole lot louder than intended, so the whole neighborhood had to have heard. And really, the lad doth protest too much.

He faded closer to the sheltering shade of the alley-wall, making sure to note anyone else in the vicinity. Whether or not this was some light and aimless chit-chat, he could never be too cautious. Unlike his senior. And looking up into the back-lit branches, watching him grin and swing his feet, Kakashi envied him a little.

"Not any more than the rest of us," Genma called down, equally as loud, equally incautious. "You know, my parents were senpai and kohai!" He plucked a couple of rust orange fruits and stuffed them down the front of his vest.

"That's neither here nor there," Kakashi said. "And don't take offense, but you can't presume to tell me it's the same--that it's equal."

"I do take offense, and like hell I can't presume!" He shot a glare back over his shoulder and gave Kakashi a nice moment to reflect on the taste of his own lug-sole. "It's not exactly easy being gay or bisexual at work around here, but you're not gonna tell me it's forbidden."

"No, senpai, I would never."

"I'm sorry for whatever made you so repressed, or scared, or whatever," Genma said. "But I'm telling you it doesn't have to be that way."

Kakashi decided not to argue that, but inched along the wall, into the deeper shadow cast by the branches. He leaned out and placed his hand on the rough bark. He thought of Tenzou. He thought of two years, shoulder to shoulder in silence, while the other men joke of their conquests past, present and future, and he regretted.

He thought of himself and Tenzou alone in the shower, in their safe little bubble of shared steam and camaraderie, of looking up just as he'd look away, and felt his face go warm. He felt his skin prickle with static. He felt far far too exposed. He had to check to be sure his mask was still in place, that his face gave nothing away, and wished he were somebody else. Somebody with the luxury of being happy.

"So, what's he like?" Genma asked him again. "I see that look, alright? You're not playing cool with me, mister."

Kakashi ducked his head, and winced at the rough bark, the dull smarting of his bruised chin. "He's...a good co-captain," he said quietly. "Yesterday notwithstanding. He's smart. He pays attention. He's...really very loyal."

Better than Kakashi deserved.

He was charming and sincere. He was well liked by almost everybody, respected by almost everybody, could disarm almost anybody. And it was telling that Kakashi tried to and could not come up with a single one of his flaws. Couldn't see past his smile, or the directness of his stare.

Kakashi knew which foods he liked, which foods he hated or was allergic to, which places he liked to sit and eat unmolested. He knew the best and quickest way to flatter him into doing something, the quickest way to anger him, the quickest way to make him blush. He knew which side Tenzou slept on, and which foot he'd attack from, and that Tenzou was not his real name. He knew at what age he'd graduated, when he'd made Jounin, how he'd flown through ANBU basic training as if nothing could touch him, and he knew Tenzou was hiding something. Some deep hurt. Something deeper and more dark than his sexuality, about which he seemed unconcerned, even blasé, that Kakashi knew better than to go prying after.

"It sounds like you like him," said Genma. "I mean, as more than your co-captain. Even if you decided not to pursue anything...."

Kakashi sagged into the tree-trunk, and wondered: why not? Why couldn't he just be happy?

"If you did decide, however," and Genma was grinning down at him. "I have it on pretty good authority he knows his way around a cock-or-two."

Kakashi sighed and rubbed at the edge of his mask, sure he was blushing; blood red, at that. He thought of Tenzou again, naked and laughing under the shower spray, relaxed and playful, his hair slicked dark against his scalp and the nape of his neck, his eyes darting to where Kakashi sat. The pink froth of blood and soap swirling away down the drain.

He gave a hard shudder, his skin pricking all over, and his tail-bone began to ache, and really, this wasn't the sort of conversation to be having out in the open like this. It was getting late, besides, and he needed to fill out paperwork.

He waved for Genma to come down already. Quickly, please, before one more person ended up in the hospital. That wasn't a threat, he added, just that the tree didn't seem sturdy.

He picked his way down slowly, with zero apparent concern, and dropped the last two meters into a loose crouch. "You know what they say," he breezed. "Smoke and idiots like high places."

Kakashi refrained from commenting. He just stood chaffing his arms and wished there was a way to make him understand without sounding crazy. Without letting on how deep the damage went. He liked Tenzou, and he wanted to be happy, no, thrilled about this all.

Rin would've said he owed it to himself, to Tenzou.

"Man, you worry me sometimes," Genma said, his hand settling warm and personal over Kakashi's left shoulder. Right over his tattoo. "I'm sorry if something I said upset you."

"It's nothing like that," he muttered, shivering for an entirely different reason, and rather than shrug away, Kakashi leaned in. He tried to convince himself it could be just like that with Tenzou. That nothing awful would happen. That he was allowed. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw blood, and when he opened them again, he saw Genma.

"Want me to take you home?" He asked. "You've had a pretty rough time--"

"No," Kakashi sighed. "I'll be alright."

"You sure?"

He nodded into Genma's shoulder, and it was so easy to lean that last little bit closer. To let his arms encircle. To take the safest option, because he knew Genma did not want him, didn't expect anything of him; and really, he was that pathetic, that needy.

He felt Genma's breath give a little catch, somewhere between surprise and annoyance, and he remembered the persimmons. He pulled back with a guilty chuckle, and prayed Genma couldn't see the frantic thudding of his heart. "Your fruit, senpai."

He let out a deep sigh and scowled into Kakashi's face like he could see into his soul. "You really are a pain, you know that? I told you--"

"Gen-san," he said, which earned him another tick, softer than the first. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Genma snorted, like Kakashi was always sorry for something. Like he wasn't to be believed. "I was gonna pickle them, anyway."

No, he said, not for the persimmons. For his behavior. For his attitude. For simply being Kakashi. He promised he wasn't always this bleak. He said, before he'd had half a stadium shoved up his ass, he was actually quite cheerful.

At this, Genma laughed, hazel eyes glittering and squinted against the sunset. "Like hell you were," he said. "But whatever. Nobody's perfect."

No, but one could always strive to be better. Kakashi wanted to be better. He wanted to be different. He wanted so much not to be that person he hated, to be able to look at himself in the mirror without flinching, that it ached. It ached to smile and pretend, and to know he wasn't fooling anybody, to see it in their faces.

He wasn't really alright, and he wasn't sure he would be.

He wondered if he ought to be scared. All the times and ways in which he'd pictured himself dying, in which he'd imagined the very worst, disaster and calamity and everyone he knew, dead, and he wondered if he ought to be afraid.

Genma brushed his wrist with light fingers and said "you can talk to me, Kakashi. Whatever's bothering you."

He nodded. He knew. "How long've you got?"

"All night, if you need." He tucked his hands back in his pockets and shifted, beckoning with a small chin jerk. "I was gonna meet Raidou for drinks later on, but I'm sure he won't mind the extra company."

Kakashi hesitated. He started to rationalize. He stopped himself. "It's a weeknight," he said. "Are you sure?"

"You're on limited duty," Genma reminded him. "You can stick to soda if you like."

"I'm not so sure," Kakashi hedged. "Actually, perhaps I ought to be getting home."

"He won't bite," said Genma. "I promise. Not unless I order him to."

Surely, he did not say, Kakashi could behave himself. Surely, one more night of relaxation wouldn't kill him, and one beer, one shot wouldn't signal his descent towards absolute rock-bottom.

Surely, he'd rather not drink alone.

* * *

He remembered the first time he'd kissed a girl, the first time he'd kissed anybody. It had been all her idea, and he was circumspect enough to go along with it, just to see if it was anything like his book described. Her skin was soft, a little chilled from the wind, and she laughed a little too loud when they bumped noses on the first attempt. After that, it was--

Well.

Nice. Not bad, not amazing either. Just nice. Not exactly what the book had promised--if he had an overwhelming desired to do anything, it wasn't to 'ravish' her, not that he knew what that meant--and nor was the awkward silence afterwards, as Rin searched his face with a kind of forlorn hope he couldn't yet begin to understand. He only knew that whatever he said next, no matter how carefully worded, had the potential to break her.

"That was--" he trailed off.

"Yeah!" She chirped brightly, forcedly, saving him face even as it twisted the knife in her own heart. Or that might just have been Kakashi's guilt, eagerly, colorfully filling in the blanks. "Wanna do it some more?"

He shrugged and tilted his head. It wasn't bad with Rin doing most of the work, but he knew she sensed that certain spark missing, and all this was was two friends being silly together.

Kissing Genma wasn't much different; and sharing a mouthful of sake with him, after they'd both had more than a bit too much, wasn't much different either. What was different, and more than just a bit nice, was sharing that same mouthful with Raidou. And Genma was right, he wouldn't bite unless ordered to. Wouldn't do anything unless ordered to, and Kakashi couldn't say why he found this charming, why he felt more of a spark; he just did. A drunk Raidou was a much different Raidou from the one he knew, and Kakashi wasn't about to let something this amazing just slip through his fingers.

They closed out the bar together and walked out with a bottle of sake, the three of them stumbling arm over arm. The world's worst six-legged race.

"We're a sextapede," Genma chortled. "C'mon, let's go leaf viewing."

So they marched off to find a secluded spot in the park, and proceeded to drain the bottle together. A fitting way to end the season, they all agreed. A last drink beneath falling leaves. Surely, there was a terrible haiku in that, and while Genma was trying to meter out the syllables, Kakashi tipped the bottle up to his lips and murmured "shotgun me."

Genma did, this time lingering about it, letting his tongue play into Kakashi's mouth; spilling as much sake as they shared. "You sure like that, don't you?"

He did, and he was just drunk enough but not too, that he liked it a whole lot. He liked the way Genma's hair feathered over the backs of his fingers. He liked how jealous Raidou got over his not sharing.

"Come now," Raidou purred. "You're wasting sake."

He tugged the bottle from Kakashi's hands, then tugged Kakashi from Genma's hands. They shared the last mouthful and kept going, and they were well past the tipping point, Kakashi knew. But the night was dark and the grounds were deserted, and they weren't thinking like Shinobi. And this, Kakashi realized, with a hazy sort of clarity, was why he drank.

He had Raidou up against the tree-trunk, and their foreheads pressed together, and this was why he drank. He couldn't remember when he'd taken his mask down, and the ridges of Raidou's scars felt soft against his lips, and Raidou's hand closed hot over his wrist, and this was why he drank.

"I was caught in a blast," Raidou explained. He guided Kakashi's hand down his neck and shoulder. "There's no feeling up here." But he showed Kakashi where there was, palm flat beneath his left pec, and asked if this was his first time.

He might have been young, and more than a little naive, but no. This wasn't his first, or his second, or even his third time. But did he always blush like that? Raidou was worried he might have a temperature. He pressed his humid, grass-stained palm to Kakashi's forehead, then his lips.

He was red from the alcohol, he knew, but he couldn't be bother explaining that. Kakashi pressed forward and lengthened his back, and it felt too good to care, though he winced at the pull on his aching tail bone, at his cock's response against Raidou's palm, and he wobbled a bit.

Genma caught him and steadied him from behind.

"One sure way to check," he whispered, hot in Kakashi's ear, and that was more like it. His big, square bladed palms slid up underneath Kakashi's shirt and his mesh-armor. He cupped his chest and brushed lazy fingertips over his nipples. He brushed up against Kakashi's ass.

And Raidou's eyes were on him, on both of them like magnets. He sucked at Kakashi's fingertips, then his tongue-tip, and Kakashi reciprocated.

And Genma's hands slid back to his hips, his breath came in shivery little puffs, and Kakashi was drowning.

He tugged Raidou's zipper down, slowly. He dropped his head and buried it there, down in the skin-warmed fabric, into the heat of his senpai's groin.

Genma whispered "does he feel hot to you?"

And Raidou moaned "yes," and splayed his thighs into Kakashi's hands.

He knew he'd regret this all the next day--the drinking, the rolling around in the grass, and the salty taste of his senior's skin--but he wasn't about to let that spoil his fun. He wasn't going to let himself be guilted by thoughts of Tenzou, of what would become of his reputation. He was a simple creature, this Kakashi, and sometimes he liked to be mounted. Sometimes he liked to suck cock. Sometimes, he thought, it was alright being gay; and he liked what this was, even if it meant nothing.

He wasn't going to think about what they'd say to each other the next day. If they'd say anything at all. He was flush and content, and he was through apologizing.


	5. Walking Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as he hammered on about the code of conduct and how a Shinobi was without vice, he was still human.

He remembered the last thing he'd said to her, right before the mission, before everything went all pear-shaped.

He was sorry.

He could kiss her a thousand times, lie with her a thousand times, pretend all she liked, but it wouldn't change a thing, and it wasn't fair to either of them. Like he really gave a damn about fair. If he had, he wouldn't have pushed her hand away just then. He would've let her touch him, or he would've told her sooner, and he would've stopped lying to her and himself and everybody. And she still would have died.

She would have drowned whether or not he'd told her a thing--and he hadn't, only 'sorry', always sorry. Whether he was gay, straight, or young and lonely and confused, he loved her. But what good would saying it do? A week on the ventilator, her parents resigned and serious: avoiding him like his mistake, his death aura, was contagious. And he could not fault them. The fact that he was allowed to see her at all, that they said nothing at all, was a gift to him, and he'd be wise to not question it.

He wasn't sure she could hear, still. He was afraid to speak. All the times she'd healed him, picked him up, dusted him off, cared enough to still get angry with his stupidity...and what was he to say? Sorry wouldn't mean much, or do anyone any good this time.

Rin would die. It was not a question of if, but when, of how long it would take, and what would tip her over first. Would it be cerebral edema, or pneumonia? Infection or organ failure? Or would her soul simply let go one day, and float from this world like a child's lost balloon?

He didn't want to know, couldn't bear understanding, couldn't stand to watch. Obito had been quick, he'd been able to shut down, block it out. He still dreamed of it in bits and broken pieces, but daylight always sent those bits scattering. His rational mind knew it was over. His irrational mind wished the same for Rin, and he hoped at least she wasn't in pain.

Pain was for the living, and he'd bear with it alone. Because his death was contagious, and anyone else that got close to him might catch it as well.

"You're not alone," Jiraiya-sensei told him. More empty words, since he'd most likely disappear the next day, and not return for weeks, or months, or years. "And you're not going to be alone."

"Man is a social animal," said Jiraiya-sensei. "You and I are social animals. Listen! Do you believe we're all descended from the great apes? I believe it to be so. Without companionship, I believe we die, we are nothing, we are like souls without bodies, Kakashi. Promise me you won't become a soul without a body!"

Why? What was the point? Better to be a body without a soul, without a face, without feelings. To be a Shinobi was to follow the word of the law, to complete every mission by the letter, to never show weakness and never shed tears.

"Guidelines," Jiraiay-sensei tossed out with a shrug. "Look, kiddo, people die. It's a fact. In our line of work, people are killed and maimed, people turn out to be not who you thought they were...but you know all of this. That's no reason to give up. If anything, you should live while you can! Live as hard as you can! And for god's sake, lighten up a little. It won't kill you to smile."

* * *

Kakashi woke with a head full of cotton wool, his tail bone throbbing, and no memory of how he'd gotten back to his apartment. Signs of a good night previous, he thought, or a mission gone wrong. It depended. Which of those marks were bruises, and which were hickeys? Who was he going to end up apologizing to before the day was out? Would Tenzou still be talking to him? Would anybody? And he realized it was back to that again.

Back to apologizing.

Genma greeted him solemnly in the hall, between the Tokujo lounge and the cramped little den they called an office. He was holding a pair of coffee mugs in one hand, and a pair of pastries in the other.

"How's your hangover?" He asked gingerly. "Didja throw up at all?"

Thankfully, no. But he'd been smart enough to stick to sake all night, while Raidou had had at least four beers besides. Speaking of which--

"We don't speak of it," Raidou said dully.

"Oh, just take some aspirin, you big baby." Genma plonked a mug down on the desk in front of him. "That's what you get for thinking you can out-drink me."

"Your voice," Raidou winced. "Lower your voice."

"Sorry, and here, I got you the last melon-pan." He leaned over Raidou's shoulder--the right, Kakashi was careful to note--and placed it gently beside his mug. Then, just as gently, he placed his hand on Raidou's forehead.

Raidou smiled beatifically. "Who did you have to kill?"

"Don't ask," said Genma. "Just enjoy."

"I love you," said Raidou.

Genma said "I know."

And genius Kakashi said "so, you two...."

"Don't ask, don't tell," Raidou said, index finger raised in the universal hush-hush gesture. Then he smiled. "Listen, Hatake-kun, and remember this well: it's only gay if our balls touch." Then he winked.

Right. Kakashi nodded slowly, then went to fix himself a cup of tea.

Genma trailed after, sighing about the state of his bedroom and how Raidou was always eating his food, and not to listen to his idiocy.

This had to be the happiest Kakashi had ever seen him, had seen either of them, which did mitigate his guilt somewhat.

He would not ask if last night had been their first three-way, or if they did it often, or if they'd be willing to do it again. Only, how long had Raidou-senpai been 'eating Genma-senpai's food?'

Genma shrugged. "Idunno, how long would you say, Rai-chan?"

"Too long."

"Quit complaining," Genma snarled. "We can always break up again."

"Not now," said Raidou. "Maybe after work."

Genma shrugged again, as if to say 'see what I put up with?' He sipped at his coffee and explained that he liked his space, and so did Raidou, and Kakashi was probably the last person in the village to not know they were involved. Even the Hokage knew. The Fire Daimyo probably knew.

"Yet we can't get married," Raidou pointed out.

"You kidding?" said Genma. "We'd probably kill each other."

"Together," Raidou said. "Together, we'd kill each other. If they can't recognize that...."

Genma smiled and kicked the side of Kakashi's zori. He tipped back against the ledge of the counter and sipped at his coffee some more. "You ought to go talk to him," he said, a propos of...something.

"Eh?"

"Tenzou," he said. "You oughta talk to him."

"After last night?" He hadn't seen Tenzou since leaving the hospital, and was more than ever dreading it. Was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Especially after last night," Raidou said. "At least now we know your libido's working."

Genma straightened a bit, mouth paused over the lip of his mug. "Oi, Raidou, speaking of work...have you heard from the wonder twins at all?"

"Eh?"

Genma tapped distractedly at the mug's base. "Kotetsu and Izumo," he said. "I sent them for an 'I-D-ten-T' form an hour ago. I'm wondering how long before they twig."

"Come on," Raidou said. "I know they're a pain, but could you--for at least one second--resist fucking with the Chuunin?"

"Relax, as long as we don't need them for anything else, today." Genma shrugged. "We're not here to puppy-sit."

A puppy, in Shinobi parlance, was someone between the onset of puberty and Chuunin rank; usually eager, not always that bright, and in constant need of supervision. They were cute, and useful for some of the more menial jobs, but they made a lot of noise and you were always cleaning up after they shit on everything. Kotetsu and Izumo in so many words.

And what did puppies become when they grew into their overlarge paws and big, thwapping tails? Tokubetsu Jounin. The few, the proud, the beleaguered. So they said: you don't make Tokujo, Tokujo makes you.

"Makes you what, I wonder," Raidou mused. "Makes you cry? Makes you consider monk-hood?"

"No," said Genma. "It makes you crazy, that's what it makes you."

If the Tokujo were crazy, they were less-so than the ANBU, less-so than the elites, but moreso than the rank-and-file, which made them ideally suited to those odd jobs the other ninja would not touch. Though they specialized, it was never quite clear what they specialized _in_; other than being specialists. There was advancement within the field--specialist class A was the highest--and they were valued as soldiers, as mentors, as leaders. But they would never be elite, and were happier not to be. As much as they barked and snapped amongst themselves, they came to heel with remarkable efficiency whenever a bigger dog barked back.

Raidou and Genma were big dogs in their own right, two of Konohah's biggest. They'd never been ANBU, but with Raidou's skills and tenacity, and Genma's grace under pressure, Kakashi could see why the Hokage had considered appointing them. He could also see why they would've been unsuitable. Raidou was too proud, too hot-headed, too prone to injury. The fact he was even still alive was a testament to his stubbornness and ferocity, but it hadn't been enough to save his team-mates. For that reason, he'd respectfully declined his appointment, and remained a guard-dog, forever barking to warn others away.

Genma, for his part, lacked the discipline and the motivation to become a ruthless, cold-blooded killer. Though poisons were a good part of his arsenal, they were used to paralyze and slow, and were mostly non-lethal. He was also lazy, pushy, and impulsive. His attention span tended to wander at times, and he had no patience for things or people he deemed troublesome. He was however, according to Raidou, the senior most looked up to by the juniors. And also the one they came bitching to whenever things weren't going right. Which was why he usually kept Aoba around, to run interference while he disappeared.

"And if he's not here in the next five minutes," Raidou said, "I'm sending you to hunt him down."

Genma snorted into his coffee. "Me? Why me? As senior in this office, that's your job!"

"It's also my job to delegate responsibility," Raidou sniffed. "I've got enough to worry about with you sending my Chuunin for boxes of grid squares or whatever nonsense. Genma. Dear."

"Man," said Genma. "Someone's in a mood this morning."

"Someone didn't want to wake up this morning," Raidou pointed out. "Please, just do this for me? Send Hatake if you mu--"

Just then, Aoba popped his head around the door. "Send Hatake for what?" He asked, guilelessly munching a strip of tsukonbu. "I've been in the building since daybreak."

"Doing what, exactly," Raidou wished to know. Having a snack and a chat with the office ladies did not count towards being on time. Nor did napping up in the mezzanine. "But how good of you to grace us with your presence," he said.

"Yes," Aoba reported crisply. "Had to stop by and let you know I was leaving. You see, I've got--"

A shuriken whistled past Kakashi's ear, lodging with a wooden *thok* into the lintel by Aoba's head. Neither of them flinched. Neither of them dared breathe.

"Make a move for that door, it'll be your last." Genma hopped up to sit on the ledge of Raidou's desk, legs crossed at the ankles, finger idly twiddling a loop of filament. "Kakashi will back us up."

Kakashi would do no such thing, but he'd play along silently, making sure he was well clear in the event Genma jerked that wire taut.

Aoba cocked his sunglasses up to his forehead, unimpressed. "What good am I to you, dead?"

Genma smiled and said he didn't want to find out.

Kakashi silently revised his opinion of the man.

* * *

It would be several weeks before Kakashi could sit, crouch, run, or take a deep breath without wincing.

He could not lie comfortably in any one position, for any length of time, and had to sleep--in fifteen minute shifts, if he slept at all--with part of his bedroll folded under his knees, his hips, or his lower back.

Using the latrine was an exercise in endurance, and he made sure to remind Tenzou every time he went, even if it was to take a piss.

He'd turn to his smirking vice-captain, both of them huddled deep into their cloaks, shoulder to shoulder against the cold, and murmur: "whenever my ass hurts, Tenzou, I think of you."

And Tenzou would jerk up the collar of his cloak up so Kakashi wouldn't see him blush. "Senpai!"

"Romantic, isn't it?" Kakashi teased. The rain, the mud, the possibility of trench-foot. The likelihood they'd be found out and killed. During these lengthy spy-missions, it was just the two of them alone against the world: a traveling, one-eyed monk and his novice. A pair of lost circus performers. Tourists. Fortune tellers. Mushroom collectors. And when the job called for it, assassins.

They ate together, slept together, bathed together, and always checked one another for ticks and leeches. No speck or spot or scrape went without notice, and when Tenzou had an itch he couldn't reach--for fear of moving, making any sound that might give away their position--Kakashi scratched it for him. The spot under his right shoulder blade was particularly troublesome, even when they weren't both stuck up a tree. He wouldn't have to twitch or give a sign before Kakashi's fingers were there, and Tenzou would forget himself and his propriety, and he'd arch into it like a cat. Then he'd straighten up and away, lightly clearing his throat; reminding Kakashi that this was serious business, and he wasn't being fair.

After they'd taken out their target, however, he softened. He let Kakashi take the body-storing scroll from his slack fingers and tenderly wipe away the blood. He wanted a bath, he said, he couldn't stand having the smell on him. On both of them. But they didn't have much time before they were due back, and Kakashi said the Hokage was used to stinking, blood-caked ANBU in his office.

Once they'd made their reports, he promised there'd be a long, hot scrub and a steaming bath waiting for them both. But they'd have to run quickly.

"Yes, senpai, and when your ass hurts, will you still think of me?"

* * *

Kakashi did think of him. During one of his weaker moments, his loneliest, most unguarded moments, when his lips sucked away from the rim of his glass, he thought about Tenzou's mouth, and his dick got hard.

And he just wanted to yell at it, the damned disobedient thing. Though it wasn't his dick's fault. It wasn't even his own fault. He was a simple creature. As much as he hammered on about the code of conduct and how a Shinobi was without vice, he was still human. He was very much a man, left alone with his thoughts, left alone with the one thing that would never let him down or abandon him. Even when the shochu was gone, when the whiskey made him ill, when his drinking scared him, his dick was still there. Hard or soft, it was, much like Kakashi, a thing of many moods.

It would be there in the morning, hard when he woke, and it would be there at night when he visited the hot springs. His ass no longer hurt, but he thought of Tenzou when the steam and cool air collided, misting his skin. He could almost feel the shiver of slick back muscles, the soft intake of breath, and the sigh as his hands warmed and scrubbed the tension away. The smell of soap anymore got him hard, and Tenzou's nearness was becoming a distraction.

He was a splinter in Kakashi's palm and in his brain, and Kakashi had to scrape him out. Light a fire to stop a fire. Fuck somebody else and rewire the part of him that was suddenly so fixated on the idea. Because it hadn't been there before, and there was still a chance it wasn't permanent.

Under the cover of merciful steam and darkness, he would seek a pair of square, capable hands; firm shoulders, dark eyes; an ordinary face that lacked the tell-tale alertness and underlying hints of damage that most Shinobi possessed. He would look for the right cues and sidle up to this perfect stranger, and their eyes would lock briefly, or they'd appraise one another and perhaps soak for a while. Kakashi liked when they offered him massages. Sometimes he was in the mood to be taken care of. He would top, and top hard--and think of Tenzou pinned writhing underneath him--but it was nice not to have to do all the work at times. Nice to simply be appreciated.

He was up for anything on this night, but no rough stuff, he said. No pain. No restraint. He wasn't into biting or scratching, but light spanking was okay so long as it didn't leave marks.

The stranger laughed at this, commenting: "you certainly know what you want." Then he did exactly as Kakashi asked, spanked him once, and Kakashi jumped.

Because it hurt; and he got cross, and he thought of Tenzou, and his dick got hard.

What a sad, simple creature indeed.


	6. Casualty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accept that in any system, things will always go wrong.

"You're a mess," Tenzou panted as he exchanged old blood-soaked cloth for fresh.

Kakashi would allow that. He'd allow it as an understatement, and thank the lieutenant for sparing his feelings. He'd also allow that neither of them was looking particularly fresh, and hadn't been prior to getting their asses blown sky-high.

They looked a damn sight better than the remains of their contact, though, which now lay scattered to all four winds; blackened and still smoldering, and only vaguely resembling anything that once moved. A write-off, they called it. A human being one moment, a circle of ash the next, and Kakashi had to force himself not to think about it. About the 'what if'. About the 'why'.

Because chance favored the prepared mind, one knew that in any system, things would always go wrong.

Some link in the chain of anticipated events would always be weaker, and some margin of error, no matter how many a successful drill, had to be allowed.

Five second fuses always lasted three seconds. And three second fuses...didn't. And there would've been no way to disarm the complex web of wires, each intricately linked, exquisitely tangled. That was why they'd sent in a shadow clone. They'd known it was a trap, and they'd known it was hopeless, and there was nothing, Kakashi had said, to be done about it. They'd gotten all the intel they needed, so the contact was irrelevant. There was no guilt or innocence in the DMZ. There were no neutral parties left after a war. There was no chance and no sense, and nothing to do but run.

Just get out. Don't stop. Don't think. Don't look back.

There were no whys or what ifs. Never complain, never explain. He'd been exhausted and running on fumes for days. His fault. He'd overused the sharingan, and continued pushing on after the fact. His fault. His footing was unsteady, his thinking was logy, and it was much too late to abort. His fault, his fault, all of it his fault.

They were left with one headset, as Tenzou's hadn't been damaged by the blast, but he'd removed it. He worked quickly, silently, and without complaint, while his nose bled freely down his chin. And it was not for Kakashi to protest. He couldn't tell how badly he'd been injured, but he'd been close enough to catch Kakashi by the vest. Close enough to take on damage.

He said they'd be back with a medic--they, the back-up squadron--but he wasn't sure how soon. He said they'd abandon Kakashi over his own cold, dead corpse, and he wasn't going anywhere until help arrived. The mission was not a failure. He had all of the intel. He would not let things end this way.

He tugged Kakashi's cloak away from his throat, his movements brisk. He was checking for jugular deviation. But Kakashi would've told him, could've told him if he was able: tension-pneumo was a no-brainer, hemo-pneumo a distinct probability. His rational mind knew all that, all of the ways in which he could die, and how slowly. His irrational mind knew only terror.

Felt like his chest was caving in, like there was a boulder on top of him, an elephant. Tenzou flicked out a kunai and cut away the top half of Kakashi's vest and singlet, a quick slit up the neck-gaiter, and then his mask.

"Left lung," he murmured, crunching up to press an ear to Kakashi's chest. "I hear fluid."

He was dispassionate, running on automatic. He wouldn't let himself think, or else he wouldn't be able to cope, to do what needed to be done. Between the third and fourth ribs, closer to the shoulder than the sternum, and he had to be quick.

Tenzou grabbed his kit and slammed it open beside him. He wasn't a medic, but he'd been trained in the basics. For this mission, he carried a small vial of antiseptic, anesthetic, powdered coca leaf, rolls of bandages, catgut, needle, a large bore syringe, a scalpel, and sterile IV kit. That last item was what he was after, peeling the plastic back with his teeth, dismantling it right there on Kakashi's chest. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than a pen-barrel, better than a hollow piece of bamboo.

"Bear with me, senpai," he said, carefully lining up the scalpel. "This may hurt a bit."

Always with the polite speech, always. He'd curse as he impaled a target on his arm, and he'd spit nastily if blood got into his mouth, but he'd pardon himself afterwards. He'd apologize for being brusque. And if there was a detainee left alive, they'd invariably piss themselves and tell Kakashi whatever he needed to hear.

Here was the kind of Shinobi Konoha just creamed itself over.

He apologized as he held Kakashi's head still. Apologized as the blade punched through, and apologized near tears as he widened the slit, and threaded a length of tubing in. As he pressed to force out the blood. As he gagged and turned away to spit, he apologized. He knew how much it had to hurt--like rocks inside his chest, like swallowing his own fist--but he wouldn't stop. Not when Kakashi begged.

Not when Kakashi tried to push him away. "No more--" His hands were numb. They floated across his vision like lost balloons, and bumped harmlessly against Tenzou's dripping arms. He tasted blood, saw blood, saw Tenzou spit more of it out, and saw it leaking from his ear.

He'd been hit--by the shock-wave or by flak, it didn't matter--he'd been hurt pretty badly. He'd wasted enough energy on this useless senpai. But he wouldn't stop. He dashed the wounds with cocaine, and forced a bitter fingertip between Kakashi's lip and gum, cooing to please bear with it. Please.

"Breathe," he coaxed, fingers slick on Kakashi's brow, bleeding as he bled. "Just keep breathing."

Here was the kind of hero Konoha would bury, would award only posthumously, and it made Kakashi ache.

He was sorry, he'd really started to like this Tenzou.

* * *

Soon after Kakashi started noticing hair on his body, after he'd first had another boy's hand on his cock, he was inducted into ANBU. He was given a bunk in the barracks and read off a list of rules as long as the corridor outside. He was the newest kohai, everyone's younger brother, and they'd take care of him. They'd keep him in line. They'd make a space for him in the ranks and hammer him until he fit.

PT was every morning before sun-up. They ran dummy-missions and ate supper in the field, learned what would nourish and what would kill them. They learned how to read maps and lay out formations. They learned how to garotte an enemy with wire, how to perform a less lethal blood-choke--a few seconds pressure placed on the carotid, effective every time--and practiced on shadow-clones, on each other, while the instructor listed off the names of the other arteries and major blood vessels; the systemic and pulmonary; the arterioles and capillaries.

They learned the quickest way to the fastest bleed, to strike snake-like and retreat. They learned the major muscle groups, the ligaments and tendons, the bones and tissue that composed the human body. Any and every way a man could be injured, maimed, killed, they studied and committed to memory; and they learned just how badly they themselves could be harmed, could be maimed, could be ripped to shreds and still keep going. They learned how best to deal with torture, to shut down and go blank, to seal their own tongues. And they learned how to die, quickly and completely, so as not to leave a trace.

That was Monday.

On Tuesday, they swam laps until their arms and legs burned with exhaustion, and then dived down into the deep end to retrieve stones. Again and again, they held their breaths longer and longer until somebody failed to come up. He could never tell, senpai said, who would be first. Who'd become a human stone in need of rescue?

It was usually the slowest, the heaviest, the one who tried hardest--and the smallest, the lightest, who was sent to drag them out. If they hadn't taken on water, they were slapped, berated, and made to watch while the others continued. If they had taken on water, in other words drowned, they were given CPR, revived, then slapped and berated.

Again and again. More and more human stones piled up beside the pool, and Kakashi kept going, pulling them out, breathing into cold, chlorinated mouths until his own lungs burned, and he knew the true definition of madness.

He would've thought senpai was pleased, proud once he was the only one left. But, no.

He said Kakashi looked like a drowned dog. Like a pathetic cry-baby. He pinched the top of his un-muscular arm, which ached deeply, and said he was the weakest. The skinniest. The last one to get it.

This was not the Seiki Butai, senpai said. This was not anything he understood. To be ANBU was to divorce oneself from fear and emotion. To know death.

He knew. He'd had his heart restarted twice the year before. He hadn't been afraid then, and he still wasn't. Not of the water, and not of senpai. But he knew defiance would not be tolerated here, would get him booted out, so he did as he was told and dived back in. He swam along the bottom until he felt his chest would cave in, and rose to the top where senpai waited: a hand outstretched to hold him under.

He did not struggle as the water slipped, icy and chlorinated, into his nostrils and back down his throat. He simply thought of Obito and Rin, and when he came to, seconds later under the seal of his senpai's lips, he pretended he'd been saved. It wasn't hard. He remembered the frantic desperation in Rin's eyes that first time. He remembered sensei's hand on his chest. He remembered trying to push the rock off of Obito's body, and how serene his face had looked, and he even allowed a few tears to spill.

Senpai slapped his cheeks a few times and told him he was trash. "What do you say?" He shouted. "What do you say, scum? Thank the man who just saved your life!"

He shaped his mouth around the words, whether he meant them or not.

Later that night, he had senpai bent back over a weapons locker, one hand furiously jerking his cock, the other holding his mouth shut. "What do you say, scum?" He inched his fingers apart for senpai's tongue. "What do you say?"

He took a deep, gasping breath and came, arching up against Kakashi's hip.

And that was what Kakashi thought of as he lay there in a slow expanding pool of his own fluids. Not of Rin's blue-tinged lips, or Obito's sunken eyelid, or the lines of mourners that filed past the memorial. Not the white chrysanthemums piled like snowdrifts, wilting in the summer heat. Not the great hollow pit in his chest, the pain as if he'd swallowed a mountain. But the tender arch and warm spill of semen on his thigh. The slick saliva on his palm, the last desperate breath. The quivering of his muscles, the pulse of his blood, and the dark, shocked rounds of Tenzou's pupils. The dull sting of someone slapping his cheek, sealing their mouth over his mouth, forcing air into the spaces where his lungs should be.

He was under water and clawing just beneath the surface, and it didn't matter how he struggled. He was on his back. He was back at the hot-springs, Tenzou's warm, slick fingers fanned across his chest. Tenzou's lips sealed over his. Tenzou kissing him. Tenzou's weight pressing him down, and down, and down. And he was finally ready to sink.

He was drowning like a dog in a sack filled with stones, and he couldn't remember feeling so at peace. He was going to see Obito again, and Rin again, and his father and Sensei, and he'd finally be able to apologize and mean it.

He was sorry for making everyone wait.

* * *

He was awake.

He'd wanted to sleep a little longer, but someone kept nagging him and nagging him until he was forced to give up. He almost reached for his alarm clock before he realized he wasn't in his own bed. There were no dogs scratching and whining for breakfast. No. It had to be well past sun-up, and Akito usually woke him while it was still dark. He usually rolled over and swatted him away at first, but there was no cold, wet nose under his palm.

There were tubes and wires, and then a bed-rail, and he knew he was in the hospital again. His eyelids had been taped shut, and there was something hard and plastic in his mouth, stuck into the corner of his cracked lips, stuck all the way down his throat. That was new. In a panic, he grabbed at it and started to pull. A mistake. He was gagging, choking, and somebody grabbed onto him, told him to cough. He did, and it felt like he was trying to vomit his entire spinal column. Like all of his organs were being dragged up, unraveling him like a scarf from the inside out. Like he'd swallowed his own fist, and now it was stuck.

"There now, Kakashi-kun," that somebody (a medic?) cooed at him. "Take it easy, and don't try to speak yet. I'm going to remove the tape."

She tried to be gentle, but it still stung, and his eyes watered copiously for a moment. He squinted against the smeared light until someone rushed to close the curtains, and there was something cool dabbing at his cheeks. Somebody tenderly wiping away the left-over adhesive and telling him how it was touch-and-go for a while, that they almost didn't make it.

Or they almost did make it. And he felt like he was going to cry, real, actual tears. It felt like his chest was caving in. He even choked up a little sob. Suddenly, he wanted to go back to sleep. He'd been having the most wonderful dream before all of this...reality was thrust upon him, and he wanted to go back to it. Then he got a hold of himself and remembered he was a Shinobi, damn it. He was ANBU. He was alive for a reason.

They were alive. They, meaning he and Tenzou. Tenzou was alive! He grabbed onto the medic's wrist and desperately tried to make himself understood.

He remembered himself hoisted up on Tenzou's back, watching the water rush freezing past his ankles, watching the blood furl and wash away. He remembered the jostling of his arm across Tenzou's chest, and how he'd stumbled. He remembered Tenzou beside him, and then he'd woken up here, alone. Why wasn't Tenzou there? What had happened?

Tenzou was in stable condition, the medic explained. He'd taken a lot of flak, and they wanted to keep an eye out for infection, but that was all just precaution. He was expected to make a full recovery; was already sitting up, standing, and complaining loudly of boredom.

She said "he's really quite tough, our Tenzou."

And he was, Kakashi agreed. Not once, but twice had he saved his senpai's sorry life, and what would he have to show for it? Would the scarring be bad? Would he now jump at loud noises? Would he fear every stranger that moved into or out of his periphery? Would he see explosive tags everywhere he looked, and everywhere he failed to check? Would he ever look at Kakashi the same way again?

Kakashi would spend an unmemorable week in the hospital, most of which he'd sleep through. Tenzou would visit a few times, as Genma reported, but never when he was awake. Never when there was any chance of his speaking (or having to speak) to Kakashi himself. And when Kakashi was not asleep, he'd lie still, eyes closed, pretending until Tenzou got tired and let himself be ushered out.

"His timing's even lousier than yours," said Genma. "Visiting hours are over by five."

"But you're still here," Kakashi noted. "Don't tell me they gave you the keys to this place as well."

"You think anyone's that stupid?" He chortled over his crossword book. "I'm at the top of your emergency contact list. Gai's at the bottom. Lucky you."

Yes, lucky him. "How was he? Tenzou, that is." He could pretty much guess how Gai was, and he'd be hearing about it in due time. With many exclamation points.

"He checked himself out two days ago, a.m.a," Genma said neutrally. He made steady eye-contact, nothing at all showing in his face or his voice. That in itself was a tell, but only to someone who knew him well. "He wasn't critical like you were...."

"But," Kakashi filled in. He turned his head towards the open window and looked out on a leaden gray sky. "There's always a but with you."

Genma's face fell a little, clearly not in the mood for jokes. Not that he could be blamed. "I've got someone keeping an eye on him," he said, looking back down at his book, making a few pen-strokes. "It's not your concern right now."

"It's my fault. As his senior, I'm responsible. As a Shinobi--"

"You both made it, so let's not talk about fault anymore." Genma sighed and sank lower in his chair. "Rule number fifty of the unofficial official handbook: accept that in any system, things will always go wrong." His voice and his face were soft, his entire body language mute with serenity, but his eyes could have cut glass.

"There are no accidents," Kakashi insisted. "Chance favors the prepared mind."

"Yeah, and how prepared are you to die?"

Kakashi turned his head and looked at the bud-vase on his window-sill, at the single pale blue flower, petals venous and sharply translucent in the chill mercury haze. There was a soft sudden rumble of thunder, the sharp smell of ozone. A patter of rain hit the sill. Kakashi closed his eyes.

He told Genma about what it was like in the ANBU fraternity. He told him of the barracks and the drills, the hammering of nails, the need to be fearless. He told him of the specialized training and the hazing. He asked if Genma knew what it was like. If he knew how it felt to stop breathing.

And Genma said he did. Every time Raidou went out on deployment. "Every time some elite idiot goes off half-cocked and comes back on a stretcher, every time one doesn't come back. Every time someone's late, every time I hear a noise, every time I turn a fucking corner and I don't know what's around it...."

He plucked the toothpick from his mouth and held it up, pinched between two fingers.

"This is me. Now I'm alive--" snap went the toothpick. "Now I'm not. If you're not scared, you're not paying attention. If you're not paying attention, you fuck up, and if you fuck up, you're dead.

"Do you think," he hissed, as close to boiling over as Kakashi had ever seen him. "Do you think that just 'cause you're elite, just 'cause you're hot shit, you're the only one who knows what it's like? You think you're the only ones putting yourselves in danger out there, every damn second, every damn day of every mission?"

No, and no matter what Genma thought of the elites, this one had nothing but the utmost respect for his fellow Shinobi, no matter their rank. And clearly, having ended up in this state, Kakashi wasn't such hot shit. He wasn't great. He didn't believe in any such thing as luck.

He had fucked up, and he had every reason not to be living.

Genma laughed bitterly at that, but did not challenge it. He just steepled his hands in front of his face and sniffled, sucking back the tears. "Maybe you don't believe in luck," he said. "But I do, and you are...the luckiest son of a bitch I know."

He wondered if he'd really allow that. But he'd thank senpai all the same, not only on his behalf, but Tenzou's as well. He knew that if it weren't for Genma's and by extension Raidou's meddling, his loyal, precious comrade would've ended up in the hands of someone like Ibiki--and would've been truly lucky to come away unshattered. If he hadn't shattered already.

"Don't thank me," Genma said. "Just...try and unfuck yourself. Alright? Shocking as it sounds, there are people who care about you. We all wanna see you get well."

* * *

He'd get later confirmation from Pakkun, while Genma was out having dinner, that someone had sat vigil at the shrine that night. They'd vanished without any trace of a scent, though, before Pakkun was able to get close. That wasn't at all Gai's style, and not to put too fine a point on it, he'd be nothing if not up-front about something he'd done on Kakashi's behalf.

The poem was a bit much, but Pakkun really enjoyed eating the flowers. "You don't suppose," he said cryptically.

"No," Kakashi sighed. "I don't have to. He was there."

Pakkun butted his hand.

"I know," Kakashi said, and promised he wouldn't say a thing if--when he saw Tenzou next.


	7. Blast Radius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't fix anything, he couldn't unbreak anyone. He could only hold the pieces in his hands.

Kakashi waited for him. He waited far too long, longer than he'd ever made anyone wait for him, but he was certain Tenzou would show. If not by the hospital entrance, then by the shrine. If not by the shrine, then at the administration building, or maybe the practice field. Certainly back at his own apartment. It was well past dusk that Kakashi waited, and according to Pakkun, Tenzou had not been past the mission desk recently--nor the other ten times he'd asked. Tenzou was not in the forest, or up in the cliffs, or camped anywhere along Fire Country's winding riverbanks; still, Kakashi had his other dogs check twice to be certain.

Tenzou was not anywhere, but Kakashi was certain he would show here, of all places. He would not let the creeping numbness in his backside sway him from his post atop the roof. He was a Shinobi. He was no stranger to discomfort, and no stranger to waiting.

"Come down already," Pakkun sighed from the balcony below. "He knows you're waiting, Kakashi. He won't come."

"Not tonight, perhaps," Kakashi said doggedly. "But I can last for days." Far longer than fastidious Tenzou could without a fresh change of clothes.

"Not in this state." Pakkun was right, though he'd be pressed to ever have Kakashi admit it. "Or did you forget how recently--"

"Go, Pakkun."

"Suit yourself," the little dog grunted, then sat up and reverse-summoned himself away from the balcony, and away from his master's idiocy, with a disgruntled puff of smoke.

TARFUN, Kakashi thought ruefully. Things are really fucked up now, and it shouldn't take a genius to figure it out. If he knew so damned much, why play games? If he really cared, he could track and find Tenzou in a heartbeat. If Tenzou wanted to be found--and it shouldn't take an ANBU--he'd do so when ready, and no amount of Kakashi hounding and sniffing after him would hasten that. Anyway, he was done. He let himself down onto the balcony and swung off the ledge to the alley below, Pakkun's sour 'I told you so' echoing in his ears.

It was eerily calm at this time of night. Under the red and orange glow of paper lanterns, shopkeepers stood out by their front doors, smoking and arguing across to one-another as they swept the day's dust into the street. Kakashi walked up the sleepy sidewalk towards his apartment, following the same well-tread path he'd followed every night for five years. Alone. He was no stranger to Alone, so it shouldn't have weighed as heavily as it did. Like an elephant on his chest. Or a mountain. He was alone, and it felt a lot like dying had.

Damn genius he was, if only he hadn't sent away the last living being still willing to put up with him.

The thought prickled at the backs of his eyes, made his restless sharingan burn and whirl quietly away. What had they talked about, he wondered, all those nights Kakashi lay there soaking in his own misery? Had they spoken at all? Or had Tenzou stood silent as a grave-stone, dutifully keeping watch while Obito and Rin and Sensei slept?

Had he waited all that time?

Kakashi stopped at the perimeter of his walkway. Even if he hadn't picked up that familiar blue shimmer of a chakra signature, he was close enough to see him. Close enough for an ambush. 'If you're not scared, you're not paying attention.' And he wasn't, and he hadn't been, and he was lucky to be alive. Relieved to have the elephant finally off of his chest.

Tenzou stepped down from the front stoop. He radiated anger, but not killing intent. If there was even smacking intent--which Kakashi sorely deserved--he was careful to keep that from his face. From this distance, he simply looked tired. He must have been waiting a long time, longer than Kakashi, longer than anyone ever had or ever would have.

Kakashi took a step forward and opened his rotten, lying mouth to apologize. Once more, with feeling.

"Kakashi." Tenzou's voice rang low and rough with authority. "Please, don't speak."

His eyes were on Kakashi like magnets, and he strode forward, like only people in novels or poems strode. And knowing Tenzou, he must have rehearsed this. He must have planned this in exactitude, from the grim set of his shoulders to the way the street lamp illuminated his face. Tenzou left nothing to chance. He left nothing to luck. Tenzou paid attention.

But in any system where probability of human error existed, things would always go wrong. His eyes on Kakashi like magnets, terrible and fierce--not a house cat, but a tiger--he wasn't watching his feet or the pavement. He hadn't tread the same path Kakashi had, and stepped over the same buckled stone thousands of times over, without thinking. So he stumbled, and he tripped, and his face lost its terrible self-assurance. Only a few yards to go, and all of his planning, all of his rehearsal were for nothing. His expression broke, then so did he, into a desperate jog.

He launched into Kakashi full force: first slapping him, then grabbing him.

Too hard. But Kakashi bore it with a soft grunt, hugging back awkwardly, unsure of just how sound he was at that moment--how sound either of them were. And as Tenzou rocked forward on his toes, stubbornly clinging, Kakashi could smell the dirt on his uniform, the old, dried blood. He could feel the lingering damp and the weight of the woods on him, the shiver of exhausted muscles under his palms.

He was a mess. He was shaking like a leaf, sucking in deep, sobbing gasps, and Kakashi ought to have marched him straight to the hospital. He ought to have said something. He ought to have pushed him away.

There were procedures for this sort of thing, he knew, questions he was supposed to ask. They'd had it drilled into them, the whole script, rehearsed and reheated until the words lost all real meaning. Until all they saw were bullet-points. And he couldn't.

He held on, heart hammering, swelling inside his chest like it might explode, and wondered what the hell he was doing anymore. What was he supposed to do?

His cheek still stung where Tenzou had slapped him, and he laid it lightly atop his crown, the spiked mass of his unwashed hair.

He said "this won't do." He swayed with him and rubbed the spot beneath his right shoulder-blade. He said "if someone were to see...."

Tenzou's arms slid away, and he leaned back, pitched into the circle of Kakashi's arms like they were dancing. And his face was wrought. His eyes were wet. His lips were trembling. "So let them," he said.

He swiped a forearm across his cheeks, leaving them mud streaked, chaffed. He pulled in another harsh breath and smiled. "Or if you're so concerned," he said. "Let me go."

And then, what?

Somewhere, someone looked out through a crack in the blinds. He couldn't see the eyes, but he knew they were there, could feel them burning through his back. The old widow that lived across the way, the bored housewives and overworked Chuunin that shared his block--the little dried up Granny who brought him soup when he was ill--they watched and held their breaths just as Tenzou was doing. Waiting, hoping for something to talk about.

And if this was the most interesting thing happening in their lives, so be it.

Kakashi reached up to wipe a smudge from Tenzou's cheek, to feel if he had a temperature, and said he was sorry.

Tenzou shoved him. Because he was always sorry. He was always fucking sorry, and it had long ago ceased to mean anything. Sorry was a band-aide. It wasn't going to fix anything or erase anyone's fault, so why say it?

He caught at him. "Tenzou, please--"

He was supposed to say it was alright. The worst was over. There was help if he needed it. And he couldn't. He couldn't look Tenzou in the eye and pretend he believed any of it. Because he'd never been that good a liar, and of all the people he knew, Tenzou saw straight through him.

He said "you're alive, you're here," and his chin buckled, his hands tightened on Kakashi's forearms. "There's nothing to be sorry for...and I won't hear it." He pulled in a hiccup. "Do you understand?"

He did, and he wasn't going to ask if Tenzou was alright. Wouldn't ask him what he planned to do.

He was so close Kakashi could smell the worry on his breath, and with their noses just a hairsbreadth apart, things suddenly clicked into place.

His mouth closed warm over Kakashi's cloth covered lips, and there was no stumbling, there were no apologies. Tenzou held his face in both hands, held him so he couldn't move, couldn't hide. And he wouldn't have wanted to stop him anyway.

He'd fantasized about this moment. He'd wondered what it would be like to hold Tenzou's compact body against his, and kiss his serious mouth, and he'd already decided. He pulled back to whisper, to ask. Whether or not it was the wisest thing, and whether it was right or not, he turned and let Tenzou dance him back by the hips. Edging up the walk towards the front door.

Was he alright? Was he okay? His skin was warm and flushed. Kakashi could feel his heart hammering.

"It's alright," he said, hooking a finger into the edge of Kakashi's mask, tugging it down, kissing his cheek. "It's because your skin's so cool, senpai."

He moved down the line of Kakashi's jaw, carefully sliding the mask down bit by bit, and his mouth was so warm, so good. He asked how long he'd been out looking. What kept him?

Kakashi angled to kiss his lips, damp cloth clinging by less than a millimeter, held up by Tenzou's curious fingers. "I got a little turned around," he said. "Sometimes, the road of life takes an unexpected turn."

Tenzou laughed wryly and shook him by the chin. "Then start carrying a map." As if such a thing existed. "I can't hold your hand forever, senpai."

No, but for just a little while longer.

Kakashi fumbled out his keys, tucked one nervous hand in Tenzou's grasp, and pulled him inside. They moved in silent complicity up the stairs, kissing and asking with quick little glances if this was really alright.

It was not Tenzou's first time, but it felt much like Kakashi's had, and he was almost afraid to breathe. Aware that, in undressing, they'd crossed an uncrossable line, and there'd be no going back.

Tenzou kissed like Rin hadn't, wet mouth wide open, both hands coming up to hold him still, to feel his jaw move. He was eager, he wanted to thoroughly experience everything. All at once. Every taste, texture and sigh Kakashi had to offer. He needed him, and he needed to be needed by him. But he was worried about the dirt. He really hadn't showered for several days, and was afraid he'd stink up Kakashi's sheets.

His hot hands carved a path up Kakashi's back, and over his shoulders, and he was pulling him in, tipped back against the ledge of the bed, thigh to thigh and cock to cock, and for sure there was no going back. No unstinking what had been stunk.

But that was alright. Kakashi nuzzled into the hollow of Tenzou's throat, into the creases of his armpits, and said he liked the way he smelled. He hadn't changed the sheets, anyhow, he joked, hoisting Tenzou up onto his hips and swinging around with him.

Ignoring his snarls to be careful, that he'd only just gotten out of the hospital, Kakashi fell back across the mattress with Tenzou on top. He said "I hope you don't mind fleas."

"You don't really--" he demanded, wriggling.

"No," Kakashi promised, "not since last spring."

Ordinarily, he'd have liked to have taken things slower, find out what Tenzou liked. Some other time, some other less desperate night, he'd like to tease his poor co-captain until he quivered and went non-verbal. He'd like very much, he said, to see how long he could hold Tenzou hoisted up, but he wouldn't like to make assumptions beyond what this was. He wouldn't like to push too hard, too fast. Because tonight wasn't about him. It was about Tenzou. It was about need and comfort and closeness, and giving of himself without reservation. Without masks.

"Tenzou," he whispered, and he liked the taste of his name between their mouths.

He liked the way their bodies fit, the sliding of shoulders and hands and hips, and the way Tenzou moved over him, tender and unashamed. He liked his cock, and the heat of it on him, and the rough shiver of his thrusts. He liked kissing him while he moaned.

Senpai, and again, senpai--slurred drunkenly into the curve of his cheek, his jaw, his throat.

There was no senpai and kohai here, he wanted to say, there were just two bodies, two people fucking. Fucking because it was the opposite of everything they did as Shinobi, and as good, dutiful soldiers. Fucking because it hurt to much to speak, because it felt too good to stop. It felt good underneath him and on top of him, in his hands and in between his slim thighs.

To kiss his lips slack and silent, swallowing the low rasp of senpai, of please, of Kakashi, of more. He sucked a tense line from there to the hollow of Tenzou's throat and stopped to taste his pulse, the hum of his blood and his voice. He wanted more, and he asked "may I?"

A hushed murmur and a hand at his nape. "Senpai, no marks...please."

Of course not, he promised. No marks, but a wet path he laid with his mouth: from neck to chest to navel. He moved with a purpose, but he needed to know this was okay, that he wasn't further crossing that uncrossable line. He kissed the soft skin of his groin, and asked please. He held Tenzou's cock against his cheek and breathed him in, the musk of several days running scared, of holding anxiously still, of waiting for the blast that never came, and he wanted to undo it all. No marks. No pain. No fear.

He furled his lips around the warm shaft and stroked the quivering planes of his flanks, his ass, and asked may I. He sucked him in and pulled up, and he tasted of salt, of earth, of sex, and his eyes were on Kakashi like magnets.

He weaved quick fingers through Kakashi's hair and pulled him back down. He watched him and held his breath, mouth shocked open and tongue pressed to the roof, trying hard not to make a sound.

Locked up like he was afraid his insides might come out. Like he was afraid someone might hear, might disapprove. But there was no such person here. This wasn't the barracks, and Kakashi wanted him to make noise. He wanted to hear yes and please and don't stop, and not just see it with his eyes, or feel it on his tongue.

Tenzou's thighs tremored under his palms, and he was stroking, lapping up and angling up, pulling off to catch it and roll it around his palm, to kiss the pink corona. He wanted him to watch, and see how much Kakashi adored his cock, his balls, and the place where he split. He teased the crease with two fingers and asked "may I?"

And Tenzou's fingers were there again, weaving into his hair. His mouth a silent 'Oh', his body unlocking in hot fits and starts. "Please..."

It was alright, he said. Relax. Breathe out.

Tenzou groaned loud enough to wake the neighbors, a long rasping 'Oh' like a revelation, and Kakashi hoped they were picturing everything. If he and the sex he had was the most interesting thing to happen in their lives, he pitied them.

He hoped he'd have the courage to look smug when he walked out his door the next day, and the old widow in the next building came by with her broom, leaning and peering past him to get a peak into his front door. If the mask he wore didn't put her off, he hoped the sounds coming from his bedroom would.

He hoped his yells and Tenzou's laughter as they wrestled across the mattress, as they rolled over and over and onto the floor, froze her old bones to her futon.

Let the bed-frame crack the wall. Let them judge. He was tired of lying and he was through apologizing. He was human, and he was a mess, and there was nothing about him that needed fixing.

There was only yes and please and don't stop. There was only Tenzou bending him back over the edge of the mattress, one hand rough on his cock, and the other pinning his wrists above his head. No sorries, no excuses. He said he liked him that way, and Kakashi couldn't disagree. He said, "I'm going to make you come," and his teeth were against Kakashi's throat, and there was nothing in the rulebooks that said he shouldn't. No marks, no pain, but the hot gust of his breath. His snarl.

Kakashi pulled in a great gasp and arched against his hip, against his mouth. This was as high as it got, as good as it got. And he let Tenzou kiss him down from the heights, through the aftershocks, until he was calm. Until they were both exhausted, and all of the bedclothes were on the floor, and the whole fucking mission was behind them. And it was finally safe to breathe again.

"It's alright," Tenzou was saying. "It's alright." He stroked Kakashi's hair, and pressed their foreheads together, and even if it wasn't alright, he was there.

For long moments, Kakashi lay loose and panting underneath him. He couldn't bring himself to say anything yet. He just let the amazement simmer, palms resting still against the warm planes of his back, getting used to the quiet weight of his body. The rhythm of his breathing. The softened swell of his cock and balls. The fact of them lying stuck together in his unmade bed. It was all new to him, and it was all a bit scary.

Though there was nothing in the rulebooks against this--nothing to say he couldn't fuck anyone, of any station, any gender, at any time he so chose--there were bound to be ripples. Whenever a bomb went off, it created a shock-wave; a blast radius, they called it. By order of magnitude, it could reach as far as several blocks, flattening trees and houses like playing cards. Those on the very edge of the bubble would experience tinnitus, temporary deafness, or concussion. Those closest to the center would be obliterated, and it was all the worse if they saw it coming. A lovely bloom of fire in slow motion, then blackness. Then nothing.

Then Tenzou's fingers fanned across his chest, and he had his ear pressed close, listening. Murmuring. "You were so still just now, I had to be sure."

Kakashi let loose his breath. He drew in another one, and pulled Tenzou's hand up to his lips so he could feel. "There," he said. "That better?"

He nodded, and the friction sent a shiver straight to Kakashi's toes. He was alright, and they were alright for now. For the night. And then what?

They would chase the afterglow for as long as possible, and never question what this whole thing was: a smoke-haze which, if they dared so much as breathe, might blow away. So they'd never talk about it.

They'd act normal and casual in public, at doctors appointments, and during briefings. They were senpai and kohai, anonymous behind masks, and so no-one saw Tenzou smiling. No-one saw Kakashi notice.

Off-duty, they would loll around naked in the middle of Kakashi's living room floor, and eat cup noodle while rain pattered against the windowsills. They would stay indoors while the daffodils pushed up through the dirt outside, while the Chuunin and Genin hurried about their business, and talk about anything other than work.

"You know," said Tenzou, "I once knew a man that could suck his own dick."

He had quite the hidden perverted streak, Tenzou.

"Sounds like a limerick," Kakashi said.

"No, it's true. It takes a bit of flexibility, and I've always wanted to do it myself...."

A good thing he couldn't, Kakashi thought. "Then what would you need me around for?"

"Don't be silly," Tenzou chuckled. "I like you for more than just your mouth, senpai."

Then he listed all of those things, all of Kakashi's better qualities, even the ones he disagreed with, and before Kakashi had finished the broth from his noodles, Tenzou had nudged his head under one arm, into Kakashi's lap.

And he said "relax. Breathe out...."

* * *

It was less than a week before the nightmares started.

Kakashi woke to find the blankets shoved aside, the space beside him empty, and Tenzou in the washroom, toweling the sweat from his body with a look of panic and disgust.

"Worthless," he hissed, "you're trash. You should be thrown away."

He snarled at the pink scars on his body, the slight seams he'd always said were there, that even Kakashi couldn't see, where he'd been taken apart and put back together again. He noticed Kakashi propped up in the doorway, and he flung the towel away, hands flying to the sides of his head.

Kakashi touched his wrist, and he started to cry.

"You're not," he soothed. He held on tightly and he still couldn't see the seams. He couldn't see how he was supposed to put Tenzou back together again. "You're not, you're not...."

Over and over again, he wasn't trash. Why would he think that? What was wrong? It was alright, he lied. Please, please, please, he said. Don't.

And it was useless. He was reminded of the way his dog, Urushi whined: a high-pitched, non stop keening that served no useful purpose other than to keep his master awake so that, in the depths of his mind destroying inebriation, he would not lie down, choke on his own vomit, and die. Urushi was not okay with his drinking, but short of knocking the glass from his hand--which would just result in a mess, and his getting another glass--there was nothing he could do to stop him. He'd scratch at the door until Kakashi was forced to stagger up and let him out, but that was the end of his tricks. After that, he had nothing, was helpless.

He couldn't fix anything, he couldn't unbreak anyone. He could only hold the pieces in his hands. Could only wait until the shaking stopped, and Tenzou relaxed against his chest, and his breathing evened out.

By then, the sun had climbed up over the windowsill in the bedroom, and somewhere a rooster crowed. A dog barked. Tenzou shifted and pulled away, and he looked drained. He looked about as drained as Kakashi felt, but also relieved, like this was something he'd been holding in a long time.

"I'm sorry for scaring you like that," he said. "You ought to go feed the dogs...I'll be fine."

Clearly, he wasn't ready to talk about it; and he wasn't going to take Kakashi's insistence that he stayed. It was still early, though. The dogs could find their own breakfast.

"Please," Kakashi said. "At least have a shower and some food."

Tenzou pulled in a wry chuckle and sniff. "I'm that much of a mess, huh?"

"You're beautiful," Kakashi said, prompting another laugh. "I meant handsome. Stay a while, please."

He hemmed and hawed as he stood to wash his face, bent over the sink like he did most mornings, or afternoons, or nights before he left. "It's unbecoming for a Shinobi to beg," he joked sternly, and the wobble was nearly gone from his voice.

"And what if I ordered you to stay, Tenzou?" Belatedly, he realized that might not be the best tack, that it was too soon.

Tenzou just smirked at him sidelong. "You are shameless," he sighed. "But alright."

There'd be a briefing later, meetings and patrols and more meetings; and without prying, Kakashi had to be sure Tenzou was alright, that he wasn't just saying so to appease him. He made coffee and prepared his rice-porridge with eggs mixed in, with a generous side of tsukemono, with eyes that wouldn't leave his face for a second.

And then it was Tenzou reassuring him, hugging him around the waist and stroking his back, and Kakashi wondered if he was just being ridiculous. Maybe things weren't alright, but they would be, and it wasn't the end of the world.

Fall down seven times, recover eight.

After patrols were done, after the last report was signed, stamped, and filed away, the squadron scattered and pretended not to know one another. Same shit, different day. They were prigs, Tenzou snorted, the lot of them. They'd take and relay orders, but wouldn't piss on him if his hair were on fire.

"Inuzuka spoke to me, today," Kakashi noted. "I think that's progress."

"She told you to choke on a bone."

"Still," Kakashi said. "Progress."

Later on and freshly showered, they lolled around in Kakashi's bed--always his bed, always his apartment--and made more progress. A progress of sighs and moans, of tired and lazy lovemaking, and afterwards, Tenzou spoke about the nightmares. About the abduction. About his fears.

He was only a baby when it happened, so he couldn't really remember. All he knew were the things they told him, the things they were less than careful in keeping from him, and that was enough. His imagination would fill in the rest.

"I wish they hadn't," he said. "What real purpose did it serve?"

He was only ten, eight at the most when his ANBU brothers began terrifying him with stories of feet kept in jars, and what a dead person's skin looked like. They said if he cried, Orochimaru would hear him and come back to finish the job.

They said he'd sneak in through the window at night and touch his penis, and do other horrible things, and Tenzou wouldn't talk about the rest.

He just said that sometimes he'd wished it would fall off; that his own body was a source of constant shame and fear, and he was convinced there was something horribly wrong with him. But that was over with, and he'd rather not speak of it.

He'd speak, instead, of the summers he'd spent in the Sarutobi household. The Third had magnanimously decided ANBU was no place for a young child, not on such a constant basis, and he'd placed young Tenzou in the care of his wife and sisters, and his young nephews, nieces, and sons. He remembered fishing in the river with Asuma, and how he'd dared Tenzou to jump into the deepest part, out under the rope-swing.

Tenzou had jumped, because Asuma always acted so tough and so damned important, Tenzou was going to show him. But he'd gotten tangled up, he'd failed to leap far enough, and he caught his leg on the way down. He dislocated his ankle and fractured the tibia in a spiral, and Asuma was certain he'd killed him. He'd gone into shock, he said, but he still thought he could walk.

"I never cried, either," he bragged. "I've never seen anyone more terrified than Asuma that day. He told his father I wasn't normal, and he shouldn't have to look after me."

He smiled ruefully. "If only he could see me now."

And while the smoke-haze still drifted, while the curtains fluttered against the sill, Kakashi let Tenzou roll him over and lay a wet path down his back. And he tried not to think of what came after the afterglow was gone.


	8. Triage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tried not to listen for the whistle of flechettes over his headset, the crackle and hiss as their coms went dead.

They were out on night-time patrol when the first reports--terse and troubling--came down the wire. It was just past moon-up, bright enough to read by, and Kakashi had ground position while Tenzou had tree-top. The rest of their eight-man squadron--not counting Kakashi's three scent-hounds--were scattered at key positions over the many roads and trails leading into and out of Konoha like arteries. They weren't given many details, but the man closest to the gate confirmed the village was on temporary lock-down. They were to remain on standby, he said, until further notice.

Kakashi's first thought, in the static silence that followed, was infiltration; that a spy had managed to slip through their net and into the village. His second thought and his hope, as he signaled Tenzou to come down, was that it was a false alarm. The village security forces were known to take preemptive measures, to be better safe than sorry, and in a manner of minutes or hours they'd give the all-clear. Situation normal. Nothing to worry about.

Tenzou dropped beside him into a silent cat's crouch, eyes sharp, mouth downcast. The dogs stood at high alert, and over Kakashi's headset was Yuugao, asking: what were senpai's orders? What should they do?

"Find a position of cover," he said, breathing to remain calm, hoping the sound wouldn't relay. "Remain on standby for now."

Tenzou shot him a quick flash of alarm, a wordless question.

Urushi whined, always the problem child, and Kakashi briefly considered sending him to the rear; but a nod from Tenzou nixed that idea. Orders were orders, and a stand-down was never given lightly. So they sat tight, and Kakashi tried not to imagine them--starting with Mukade at the rear, up through Yuugao and Senzou, Kame, Manzou and Hotaru--picked off one at a time by some unseen enemy. He tried not to listen for the whistle of flechettes over his headset, the crackle and hiss as their coms went dead.

He tried not to think.

It was just like him to catastrophize. To imagine the absolute worst. To begin planning accordingly.

"Senpai," Tenzou whispered sharply, his eyes flicking towards the nervous clutch of dogs stuck to Kakashi's legs. Their swiveling ears and panting mouths.

He sank down to shush them and give them pats, and tried not to leap out of his skin when Tenzou's knuckles brushed the side of his neck. He tried not to imagine the unseen enemy watching, deliberating over which of them to take down first.

"This is no good," Tenzou murmured, having reached up to mute his com. "Keeping us in the dark like this...."

Kakashi shook his head. "I should think there's good reason." As in, preventing information leaks in the event they'd been compromised. In the event that it would make them appear weak, ill-prepared, open to attack.

It had happened before, with Orochimaru's defection, and again with Kumogakure.

Again, Yuugao asked over the wire: "What should we do?"

This time, it was Mukade to bark and snap. Orders were orders, and he was being told to stand by, sit tight, and shut the hell up.

Urushi whined, and Akito bumped Kakashi's hand, and Tenzou leaned into his shoulder. "Now, now," Kakashi sighed. "There's no need to be harsh."

He could just see Mukade puff up and roll his eyes; and over the static of his com, left on (purposely?), he heard a murmur of voices in hushed conference. They all heard. Were all up and moving as soon as the order was given to regroup. Were all hoping that meant all-clear, but all doubted it.

Kakashi knew the second he saw Mukade's face, chalky gray with shock. He knew before the second squadron streaked past on, masked and armed and silent. He'd known before the words were out of Nara-senpai's mouth, and prepared accordingly.

Unconfirmed mass casualty, one known survivor. Evidence pointed to one suspect, at large, considered extremely dangerous.

"You are not to engage," said Nara-senpai, and everything about his tone, his expression, his posture, said this was likely to be personal. There were politics involved. There was something he wasn't telling Kakashi.

It was in his and Konoha's best interest, they said. He was to stand down, sit tight, follow the triage team, and shut the hell up. Orders were orders, and intel was risky. Nothing personal. They needed him inside, and they needed his dogs to help recover the bodies.

* * *

Itachi was a good Shinobi. Though Kakashi did not, had not known him personally, he knew of him. He knew of his reputation, his genius, and his congeniality. He was well regarded, never without a smile, never without a kind word for his fellows. And his record as Captain, though short, was unblemished. He completed every mission in full. He always followed orders. He never made mistakes.

He was systematic, near surgical in everything he did, which made the victims easy to identify. Row upon row, stacked two and three deep like logs. The medics worked while the ANBU checked names off a register, while an official confirmed that each valuable sharingan was in place and intact, and Kakashi's dogs searched for the next. House after house, room after room, slumped over dinner tables and half-made futons--men, women, children, animals--reduced to black tags and check marks.

Everyone within those walls, every single tick off the census reports, was deceased.

They were given mentholated rub to keep from vomiting, but some of the less hardened still lost it. Some of the regular Jounin and Chuunin had to take frequent breaks outside, and medics ended up leading more than a few away, their eyes empty, faces blank with shock.

Kakashi moved through it all like a ghost, row upon row, house after house, room after room, stopping to let the medics pass through. Cool, bright dawn picked out every detail, every splatter and stain and vein of a fly's wing. It was supposed to be a beautiful day, the kind of day perfect for snapping beans. Perfect for disappearing without a trace.

No-one seemed to notice him slipping out. He barely noticed himself, until he was beside the riverbank crunched up hard on hands and knees, purging until there was nothing left, until he was sure there was nothing left. And then, stupidly, he decided to go back. A pair of masked guards stopped him at the gate and began peppering him with questions. Where had he been? What was he doing? Had he been followed? Had he seen anything? Spoken to anyone? Could he prove his identity?

The guards came forward, and maybe it wasn't a threat. Maybe they were just concerned. Kakashi wasn't seeing that, though. He was seeing red.

He swept a foot slowly back, and moved to push up his hitai-ate. He was met with a warm implosion and sharp tang of ozone, tendrils of static questing at his bare arms like cat whiskers.

"Don't," Raidou murmured behind him. "It's alright, Kakashi. I've got you."

And that was how it ended, not with a bang, but with a whimper. They'd begun processing Kakashi's resignation before the tea had cooled in his cup. Six years wasn't such a bad run, he supposed. The Hokage had never been anything other than pleased with his performance, and the bonuses were certainly nice, but he was done.

He didn't want to talk about it. He'd even go on record as having said so. He didn't want counseling. He didn't want to burden Tenzou. He'd be fine.

He would take the requisite leave and call it a holiday. He would sit at home in his pajamas and drink, and he wouldn't think about Itachi. Wouldn't think about anything. It was out of his hands, and he had a right to be relieved. Had he not resigned when he did, his familiarity and use of the sharingan would've placed him in the next detachment--the last to make any attempt--and he'd have come back empty; eyes dead, as if his soul had been sucked out.

And suddenly, he noticed the way people were shying away from him. They weren't people he knew personally, but they were his comrades; they all wore the uniform and the hitai-ate of Konoha. They all watched him now, as if their own eyes had been opened for the first time, and he saw himself as they did. He was a vicious dog, the same breed as Itachi, and he could no longer be trusted.

Unlucky Aoba hadn't had to go after Itachi, but he'd had to counsel the poor bastards that did. He'd had to pick through their memories for what he could salvage, and then try and piece from that a whole, functioning human being. He'd also been there when Sasuke finally woke from his coma, and he'd had to start his work all over there from scratch. If Kakashi had nightmares, they were nothing compared to what kept Aoba awake in the fully lit lounge, past two a.m. the next night, hands shaking as he quietly took up smoking. The coffee just made him jittery, he said, and it was hard to keep drinking it when he couldn't keep his meals down.

He was surviving on pure nerves and the anpan Raidou brought him, and he just shook his head mutely whenever anyone suggested he try sleeping.

"Look, he's not a danger to anyone but himself," Raidou reasoned, a far cry from his usual alarmist tactic to go first for the restraints, and ask the tough questions later. "This is just how he copes."

He'd wear down eventually, they said in hushed tones over the coffee pot. It probably wouldn't be pretty, but he'd bounce back. He always did. They'd stay up with him in shifts, and watch for signs a collapse was imminent, then they'd pick up the pieces. Since Kakashi was clearly not sleeping, either, he'd be implicit in the whole 'fustercluck' and forbidden to breathe a word of it to the higher ups.

"Even if they stab your eyes with needles," Genma said, "or put burning coals on your tongue."

If he'd never had cause to question the sanity of the Tokujo before, then this, harboring and playing secret nurse-maids to a cracked up head-cracker, and having the sheer cack-handedness to believe they'd get away with it, would be the thing to do that. They even had Asuma in on it.

"Right now, this isn't the village's main concern," he said. "They've got enough to do picking up all the rest of the pieces. They'd just stick him in the hospital and sedate him."

The sensible choice, if not the kindest; but so long as Raidou had any say, and so long as he had Asuma's back-up, it wasn't happening. Aoba was a good guy, genial to a fault; but he'd fight like an angry raccoon if cornered, and nobody wanted to push him that far.

They had Kakashi at loggerheads. This went against every precept he'd had drilled into him through ANBU, and everything he'd once believed as a Shinobi: those that broke the rules were scum.

But those that abandoned their comrades were worse.

Kakashi stayed, though he didn't know Aoba all that well, and sat by him while Genma and Asuma played shougi. It wasn't very conducive to anyone staying awake, but for Kakashi, it was far preferable to the nightmares. He'd sent Pakkun to look after Tenzou, and had his other dogs on standby around the village; all he had to do was sit tight.

"I'm not much of a coffee drinker," he told Aoba, "So if I start to nod off, I want you to nudge me."

"Deal," said Aoba, then he frowned carefully, clear that was something nagging at him. "Say...Hatake?"

"Kakashi, please."

"I'm...real, aren't I?"

It was clear by his face he wasn't joking, so Kakashi pinched his cheek. "Did you feel that just now?"

"Yeah."

"Then you're real. Now, can I fetch you a snack?"

Aoba managed forty hours before he finally crashed. He was midway through lighting a cigarette outside the gedunk when the lighter stopped clicking and fell through his fingers. Genma caught him smoothly, hoisting an arm over one shoulder, and motioned for Kakashi to take the other side.

"Tch, Inoichi-sensei's gonna shit bricks," he muttered. As much as he was on board with everything this far in, even he knew it wasn't one of their most stellar moments in decision making. "Come on, you, let's get you some rest."

They half carried, half marched him to the hospital; something they were only able to do once he'd lost the wherewithal to run. There, he was given IV fluids and a mild sedative while Genma argued, voice quiet and tense, with the admitting nurses. He was part of Aoba's cell, but he wasn't family. He wasn't allowed to sign anything, and had no say in what happened from that point on. It was up to Aoba's two brothers--both away on deployment--or his eighty year-old grandmother, and they'd probably all agree he needed admitting. It was only after Genma threatened to bring in Inoichi-sensei, after he had Kakashi summon up Pakkun to fetch the man, that they relented. Aoba was put on a forty-eight hour hold, the longest they could legally keep him, and left to sleep off his exhaustion.

It was good of him, Tenzou later said. It was all too good of him, to look after everybody instead of himself. To which Kakashi joked: "isn't that what I keep you around for?"

"That and the sex," he answered wryly. But he sounded tired anymore. He was distracted. Day to day, he confided, felt like being pulled apart by horses, like being drawn and quartered. He said one horse pulled him towards his duty, the other his health, the other towards his nightmares, and the last towards Kakashi.

Kakashi asked which horse Tenzou thought was winning, and that got him a bitter laugh. Because either way, he lost an arm or a leg. Either way, he died a little.

They still wouldn't talk about what this was, what exactly it wasn't, and in the widening gyre, Kakashi could see things start to fall apart. Could sense Tenzou retreating further and further away, and knew the center could not hold. Still, he held the traces.

Still, he let Tenzou into his bed. Still, he fucked him and felt validated every time he made him come, made him moan, made him a mess. It was the last trick left in his arsenal, but it was a good one.

They'd marvel for long moments at the body-sized dent they'd put in the wall, Kakashi framing the space with outstretched fingers, wondering out loud if he'd find a scroll big enough to cover it. Wondering to himself if it was worth bothering.

It was hard, but he tried not to follow the nagging thread of Where Itachi Was. If there would've been a way to stop him. He knew where that road led, branching into ever tortuous arteries, and it was nowhere good. So he blocked it off. Later on, he'd end up describing this to Raidou, and he'd see the flash of recognition light up his one good eye. He'd be told this was normal, even healthy. Those bad memories served no useful purpose, so it was better to let them stay buried. Better to wake up drenched and terrified and not know why.

He knew only that he was alive, was alone, and his leave was effectively over.

He was to report for duty in less than four hours, for the first time in three years, without Tenzou at his side; without the anonymity of ANBU protecting him.


	9. Those that can't do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those that can, do; those that can't, teach.

New Genin cells were assigned once every year. It used to be every six months, as the more advanced students were processed faster, but they'd begun raising the age limit and lowering expectations to even the average. Thankfully, and wisely enough, they'd also increased the instructors wages. Otherwise, there'd have been grounds for a coup, or a walk out. Or grounds for more bitching from those who, nonetheless, did value their lives and their jobs. Those who did not, simply vanished or quit, and were ostracized by their peers as traitors.

The life of an instructor was not an easy one, they all warned him. Elite status meant nothing to those kids. In their eyes, Kakashi was just another strange, boring old geezer spouting off lectures about teamwork and trust and what would happen if they disobeyed orders. In Kakashi's eyes, they were brats. They were weaning pups in need of some tough love, and it was high time they learned to stop teething on one another. That it was no longer cute. That there were consequences if they refused to learn.

"Shame we can't just turn 'em loose in the mountains and let the bears sort 'em out," Asuma said. "Heh, there's a Chuunin exam for you."

"If they weren't so satisfying to throw," Genma groused from atop folded arms. "I didn't train all these years to frickin' babysit a bunch of spoiled FNGs. 'When do we stop? When can we eat? Do we really hafta climb that?'"

As annoying as the eight year-olds had been, the ten and eleven year-olds were simply obnoxious. And the academy was turning them out sloppier, stupider, and less disciplined with every passing selection. Divine retribution, if ever Kakashi had seen it, and the Hokage was shrewd in meting out the most appropriate punishments.

In Genma's case: one shiftless slacker, one bully, and one conniving manipulator, all given weapons and authorized to use them with extreme prejudice.

"Just try not to sublux anything new," warned Raidou over a stack of folders. "They bounce, you don't."

"Yeah, yeah, don't need you mothering me."

Raidou slapped the folders down atop Genma's head, spilling them haphazardly across the desk upon which he lay sprawled. "You don't need me reducing your shoulder again, either," he said. "If it keeps happening, I'm gonna recommend you for early retirement."

"Oh, please," Genma entreated with steepled hands. "Make it someplace tropical."

Raidou's hair crackled ominously. "How about hell!"

"Oi, oi." Kakashi cast Raidou a leery eye. "We're all tired, senpai, but it's no cause for a conniption."

"Connip--" Raidou broke off with an incredulous chuckle, standing back with his hip cocked. "You, Hatake, have failed every team assigned to you so far. I hardly think you've got room to talk."

He folded his arms resolutely. "None of them were ready yet."

The first set had been clueless, the second set did nothing but bicker, and the third lasted an impressive ten hours before finally calling it quits. If they'd come upon the decision and approached him unanimously, had given him a good, sane reason as to why, he'd have given them the pass; but instead, the two strongest had mutinied on the one smartest and left him tied to a post. Dismal, even by Kakashi's standards.

"Yeah? How do you quantify ready?" Raidou scrubbed a hand, shiny with old burn scars, through his hair. "I understand the need for stringency, but let's see." He plucked a folder from the stack at random, and fanned it open. "Team three. Failed because, and if I may quote you here, 'I didn't like the look of them.'"

Team six, because one of them had burst into hysterics and wouldn't stop crying, and there was no way he'd let them continue, and team...oh, who cared what number it was? Since when had this become an interrogation?

"Not interrogation," said Raidou. "Just a simple matter of opinion. Stringency is one thing, but this--because you didn't like the look of them? What is that, even?"

"Exactly as it says," Kakashi sighed. "I could tell just by looking, they weren't ready yet."

"I'm not so sure you are," Raidou said, crouching to retrieve a stray paper. "My partner here might complain a lot--"

"Hey!"

Raidou straightened and cleared his throat. "As I was saying, my partner here might complain a lot, but his team's on the fast track to the Chuunin exams this spring." He shot Genma a measuring glance. "That is, if he doesn't drop them off a cliff first."

"Working belay is a perfectly sound team-building exercise," Genma sniffed. "Let them fall a yard or two, then watch how fast they shape up."

Asuma snickered at this. "I'm tempted to send you some of my students."

"Right. Laugh it up," Raidou muttered distractedly. He'd begun gathering and tidying the scattered folders. "Never get any damned work done around here," he muttered.

Kakashi reached out and neatly plucked a folder from the pile. "Careless of you, senpai," he said, fanning it indolently. "A war could break out tomorrow, and you've just let valuable intel fall into enemy hands."

"There's a remedy for that," Raidou said darkly. "And why is it always me?"

"You make the best coffee," offered Asuma.

"I enjoy your company," Genma deadpanned.

"We're no longer allowed in during Ebisu's shift." Kakashi shrugged, then, with the most cursory of glances, handed the folder back. "We'd pester Iruka, but really, Raidou-senpai is much more fun."

Raidou curled his lip and snorted something about divine retribution, careful to turn away as he filed Naruto's folder back in its proper alphanumeric order. Right beneath the one labeled Uchiha. Not that Kakashi went out of his way to peak. Not that he knew anything he wasn't telling his most trusted senpai.

"You're a canny one, Hatake," he added, turning back. "I believe team seven is next up on the chopping block. What'll it be, I wonder...."

"They fail to remove their shoes at the tea-house," said Asuma. "Minus ten points."

"Kakashi-sensei oversleeps and they leave without him," said Genma. "Minus twenty."

"Hey, now--"

"Minus another ten for backtalk."

"They don't come at you with intent to kill!" Genma said. "Minus fifty points, and what the hell, fail 'em because it's late and you've got better things to do."

"I give it two hours," Asuma snorted.

"You have no faith," said Kakashi. "No faith whatsoever, and you are both dead to me now."

"Riiight," Asuma groaned, stretching. "Break-time's over. I'm out."

Genma yawned. "I'd better be dropping off that mission report." He pushed gingerly away from the table and stood, twisting to crack his back. "Oi, Rai-chan, dinner?"

This got him a succinct nod. "I'm off at five, I'll pick something up on the way."

Asuma was half-way out of the room, but not out of earshot. He said nothing, just smiled and tucked a cigarette between his lips, waving as he passed into the hallway.

"Lucky lucky me," Genma chuckled, giving Kakashi a light shove on his way past. "Oi, Kakashi-kun, it's nice having someone cook for you once in a while."

He let out a small tick, and it was only thanks to Genma's good mood that he didn't turn Kakashi into a pin-cushion. "I'm a competent enough chef on my own," he said, aware half-way through just how pathetic he sounded.

Genma favored him a head-cock, then bent to whisper in his ear. "I think Iruka-sensei likes you."

"I heard that," Raidou said. "Quit trying to play match-maker, Genma. Not everyone deserves to be made miserable."

"You're a dick, Raidou."

"And you're a busybody," he smarmed, ducking to avoid the scroll aimed at his shoulder. "Oi! Be careful with that!"

"If we get a divorce," Genma threatened mildly, "you can go live with Kakashi-kun."

"Thanks all the same." Kakashi shrugged away and out of his seat. "I'm not looking for a room-mate."

Nor was he eager to be caught in the middle of Raidou and Genma's angry public foreplay, if that was what this was. A long time ago, and many drinks past, it had seemed like a wonderful idea. But then so had karaoke, and the world would thank him not to try that again.

That night, after lengthy self-reflection, he visited the local hot-spring. Under cover of steam and darkness, he slipped into the arms of a perfect stranger--dark eyes, dark hair; soft, full, lips and square, capable hands--and let himself be led away.

(...up the stairs to his apartment, stripping as they went, leaving their wet uniforms to dry twisted and stiff the next morning...)

Tonight, he topped because that was what his partner wanted. Bent him into Uttana Shishosana--ass up, face down--and plowed him slowly into the futon. He leaned over and nuzzled his blank face into the crook of the man's neck. He was no-one Kakashi knew. As ANBU, he was no-one anybody knew. Outside the sauna, he had no face; inside, he had no name. So Kakashi gave him one, moaned humidly into one ear and accepted with a smile. He was nobody and anybody all at once.

(Tenzou liked to play hide-and-seek with him while they trained, appearing out of nowhere to swipe a hand up Kakashi's face, over his right eye. He'd give him a good whiff of scent, of where that hand had been, and say 'find me'.)

Tonight, he was Kakashi's best friend, his lover, his most prized possession. Tonight, he'd fuck him and tell him whatever he wanted to hear; tomorrow, he'd forget about him.

There'd be no harsh feelings. It was just what they did.

He could just as well have stayed home and wanked to some porn. Or created a clone to suck him off. But he'd never not want a drink afterwards. He'd never not end up sleeping on the floor with his face stuck to the tatami. Here, at the hot-spring, he wouldn't be tempted. Here, he could delude himself happily for a few moments that he was worthy of being loved, mask and all.

(Sometimes, Tenzou couldn't wait to get it off. Sometimes, he said, he liked it better on. Senpai was his dog now, and this was his muzzle..."

Here, he had his choice of Konoha's finest soldiers to fuck and suck and spit himself upon. Men like Raidou, like himself, who wouldn't break at the slightest pressure. Men like this one with no name, who shoved eagerly into his thrusts and begged him to whisper it, one more time into his ear. Once more.

"What's my name?"

Once more, as he rode the edge, flirted with tipping over. "Tenzou," he gasped.

It was easy to say it. Easy to lie. It was easy to love someone deeply for a night, so long as you never had to see them again--to know with a chilling certainty they were going to die. And Kakashi did, for all his careful detachment, he loved the thickness of him. The push and pull and yield. The hot back arching under his hands, and the cool helix of an ear against his lips. He loved to pretend.

(...and he'd jerk the lead whenever he moved out of turn, testing as far as he could until Kakashi growled and snapped and playfully put him in his place.)

He buried himself deep, drunk off the heat of him, the clutch and pulse and power of him. He wasn't Tenzou, wasn't anything like him. But it didn't matter. It wasn't meant to matter.

(He didn't like pain. He didn't like surprises. But he liked it when Tenzou threatened him. He liked saying yes.)

"Tenzou!" He came on a wave of hot shudders, hand gripping one well-muscled shoulder, and kept going, driving himself on until his partner got off.

Afterwards, he rolled over stickily underneath Kakashi and reached up to tug at a piece of his hair. "What do I call you?" He asked, smirking.

"Anything you like," Kakashi said. "Just don't call me late for dinner."

The man with no name smiled and stroked the edge of his mask, and with a few carefully chosen words, undid him. "I think I'll call you sad, since that's the way you always look."

It wasn't meant to be cruel.

(...and he could be so so cruel with Kakashi's trust...)

He knew ANBU operatives were not known for their tact. Still, he couldn't help but take it to heart. He said "someone wise once told me: if you're hurting, give the world a smile."

(...he could be so devastating in his kindness...)

He never asked what made Kakashi hurt, or why, but stroked his face through the mask and asked how he felt about kissing. He may or may not have understood, but here was acknowledgment, and it meant more to Kakashi than a lifetime of desperate, sweaty sex in a world of dark rooms. It meant more and hurt more than he could even say. He pressed his cloth covered lips to the stranger's mouth, and he thought of Tenzou, and he thought about drinking.

He thought about his mistakes.

He returned to work the next day, and the next. He studied, he trained, and he took on missions as the village demanded it. And each time, he was a little bit later, a little less apologetic. He had sent Pakkun ahead of him, knowing he'd be delayed, so where was the sense in rushing? It wouldn't do for morale if he arrived looking harried, and the Third was well aware of how he spent his mornings. He would vouch for that if Raidou-senpai asked.

"You're honest about it," Raidou said, with a calm that belied the mercurial rise in his blood-pressure. One notch for every word of back-talk, for every smirk. "But don't, for a second, think that excuses you in my books. As a senior Jounin, you're supposed to be setting an example."

"My apologies, senpai. One of my dogs slipped the lead this morning. I had a hell of a time chasing him down."

"Oh, come now. You really expect me to believe that?"

It was true. He'd been at the shrine when Akino decided to go for a jog, right through the woods and up into the rocks. The damned dog thought it was hilarious, laughing as Kakashi bounded breathlessly after, always one taunting step ahead. Why would he lie about something like that? It was too embarrassing not to believe, and too funny not to recount. They'd made it all the way to the monastery, Kakashi said, where it took five monks to finally herd the dog back into his hands.

"Only you," Raidou snorted, then turned tail to show just how beneath his contempt Kakashi was anymore. "Come, the Hokage wants you in his office. _Yesterday._"

He led Kakashi into the study where Sarutobi-sensei waited, fiercely composed by the window, then quietly left.

It was the same story, on the same day, as the last four years: only the names of his prospectives were different. He'd be strict with them, just as he was with the last bunch, and it was given on faith that he would pass them or fail them at his discretion. They weren't unique or special. They were unmolded lumps of clay, not yet Genin, but they'd all been trained as soldiers and they'd all be treated as such. He didn't see it as cold or cruel. After all, what was the alternative? He looked at the faces in those shiny, new photographs, and he saw them all dead. He saw them cut down in the forest. He saw them floating, face-down in the water. He saw them never having had a future beyond darkness, dirt, and death, and he saw that he was responsible.

"So, it's the bell test again, old boy?" Sarutobi-sensei said, smiling around his pipe.

Kakashi had a day more to think about it, but yes, it seemed fitting. He'd take the information he'd been given and he'd send word once he'd made the decision. Pass or fail. Live or die. The weight of it rested on him.

And, as he had every day for the past four years, Umino Iruka passed by the same bench, under the same tree, where Kakashi sat and stewed over his thoughts and read the same book he'd read four times over, in that same number of years.

"Kakashi-san!" Iruka haled him from the ground, waving. "Doesn't it get tiresome sitting there?"

There were other benches, other trees, and even other sensei, he seemed to imply. There were other places to sit that wouldn't coincide with them meeting at the same time, every day, for four years. Surely, there were other, more productive ways for Kakashi to waste his time. He found Iruka interesting, surely, but he wasn't interested in him. There lay a very clean distinction, he'd be quick to point out-- and Genma would be quick to point out he was clean full of it.

Covertly, he tucked his marking pen back into his sleeve. No need to hide the notes he'd been scribbling, however. They wouldn't be seen from that vantage. "There's a nice view from here," he said offhand, then tossed in a wink.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Iruka huffed, tugging fussily at his collar. "If you don't mind, however--that is--for just a while--"

"Of course." Kakashi tucked the book away in his bum-bag. "My ear, sensei, is always free."

Just as Iruka was never without some problem, some small insecurity, ready to be teased out at the least prompting. Their arrangement was a simple one: Iruka talked and Kakashi listened, offering support where he could. Iruka never asked questions, never pried, and never made empty promises about where he'd be the next day. It would've been so easy to take him at face value. He was a plain man. Honest and forthright to an agonizing fault. Whatever doubts he had, whatever grievances, he wasn't going to let a little thing like Kakashi's status, or his rank, keep him from airing them. Loudly, if need be.

Their main sticking point was the students, then soldiers, and Kakashi's unorthodox (read: insane) teaching methods. Once Iruka got a look at his track record, the gloves were off and everyone knew to give them space.

One moment they'd be exchanging bland pleasantries across the mission desk, or comparing notes about this and that, and the next they'd be in the midst of a spitting, public argument that led nowhere good. The other Jounin didn't scare him, and neither did Kakashi. From where he stood as an over-baked Chuunin, a chalk-smudged nobody without ambitions or aspirations beyond the classroom, he had nothing to lose: certainly not their respect, and not anything Kakashi had to offer. Though the wags liked to joke (they're at it again, and, I know a way to shut that one up), Iruka was one problem, they said, that couldn't be solved by Hatake Kakashi's magical penis.

Funny, but Kakashi wasn't laughing. Whether Iruka was interested in his penis or not, there was definitely a spark of something there. The way they argued, Genma said, was like a couple in the midst of a divorce. Whatever it was Iruka wanted from Kakashi--respect, recognition, or a thorough fucking--he wouldn't be satisfied until he got it. Tenzou all over again. He even had a habit of visiting the onsen, they said. Though it didn't seem he was there for sex--laughable thought, but some people actually went for the water--he was there, and that was all Kakashi heard.

This put a bit of a damper on his dating life, but he did genuinely like the Chuunin. He liked his spirit and his kindness, and he'd hate for things to end badly. He was the cool one, though, and he never let on how much it killed him until he was sat in the Jounin lounge playing eanie-meanie with a bottle of beer and a carton of ice-cream and no-one there to stop him.

Pathetic, how he'd thought anyone might give a damn. But who was to tell him how to live his life? He was a grown man, and not someone in need of a baby-sitter. Surely, one beer wouldn't kill him. Surely a little sugar and cream wouldn't utterly wreck his insides for the day.

"Ah, the eternal struggle," Raidou sighed from the far end of the lounge. "Recrimination or lactose. Which will it be?"

Drunk, Kakashi would have whipped the empty bottle at his feet. Sober, he just sighed and gave his spoon another spin. "So far, it's lactose, best five out of seven."

"That's got to be melted by now."

Kakashi gave with a snarl and peeled the lid off the carton. It wasn't melted, but it was too soft to put back in the freezer. "Well, cheers," he muttered, and dug in.

He popped the spoon in his mouth, bowl side down, and efficiently cleaned it of its payload. He'd suffer for it later, but he'd call it the lesser of evils and save the beer for when he was truly beyond hope.

"This isn't like you," said Raidou, king of the obvious. "It's kind of charming, really. I see why you're in such high demand these days."

Kakashi reloaded his spoon and sucked off another sinful, self-flagellating mouthful. Yes, charming. He ought to invite the sensei out for milk-shakes, then see how interested he still was--how interested Kakashi still was after the mad-dash to find a latrine.

"I mean, in a pathetic sort of way," Raidou added. "D'you want my advice?"

"Not particularly," he said. "But go on."

"Pineapple."

"Hm?"

Raidou took a lazy hip-check away from the counter, arms folded loosely, face frownful, like he wasn't sure what Kakashi might do. Like he was very interested to find out. "Eat pineapple," he said. "It makes your semen less bitter. Or, you know, you could talk to him."

He must have some sort of bet going, Kakashi decided; an office-wide pool, as if the Jounin and Tokujo had nothing better to do. Would he or wouldn't he? Was he or wasn't he? And he wondered if the Third was in on it. He wondered why, all of the sudden, it was anyone's business but his own who he fucked or didn't fuck.

"What is this 'talk' of which you speak," he teased. "If it's not something I can do with my dick--"

"You could try," said Raidou, "but it might scare him away."

"Sounds as if you know from experience." Kakashi slid the pint across the table. "Join me?"

"Better not ask, and I'm watching my figure," Raidou deadpanned. "Seriously, talk to him. You know, you and I, we're the kings of avoiding uncomfortable situations...I know how it is to get your heart broken. But do yourself a favor. Take a chance at happiness--or, hey, a night of meaningless sex. You'll never know unless you give it a shot."

And then what? It wasn't as if Kakashi needed his hand held. He was a grown man indeed, and so was Iruka. This wasn't some teenage crush. He could be amazingly uptight, that Iruka, but the way he looked at Kakashi--from eye to chest to crotch--spoke volumes. Nasty, dirty volumes. And he knew Kakashi wasn't oblivious to it.

There was no hiding the look of bright hope and hunger in his eyes when Kakashi opened his door that night; the way his hands hung heavy at his sides, the way they framed his hips. He wasn't there to talk, he was there to break his heart. He'd been by earlier, he said, but he couldn't think of how to approach him. He'd thought about it for a while, though. He wanted very much to come inside, if that was alright with Kakashi-sensei. He said there were some things he needed to clear up.

It was going to be Tenzou all over again. He couldn't have that. As much as he enjoyed the part that came before the break, he wouldn't be Iruka's experiment, not for both of their sakes. But he'd try to let him down easy. He wasn't a complete bastard. He invited him in and put the kettle on, then set out a tea tray with some rice-crackers. He apologized as he dimmed the lights, but he was about to dash sensei's hopes. Would he like some tea first, or would he like to hear it straight out?

Or would he like to panic and jump to conclusions? "Something I should know about my students?"

"Ah, no," said Kakashi, and there weren't his students. Not anymore. "Though that wasn't why you came here, was it?"

He fiddled with the light-switch a bit, surreptitiously checked the corners for dust-bunnies, and waited for the sensei to back down from def-con one.

Iruka sighed and slumped back into the cushions. "I just wanted to talk, that's all. And maybe--" his eyes flicked up. "Find out more about this Kakashi-sensei Naruto's been bragging about."

"You mean complaining about," Kakashi chuckled, and did his casual best 'holding up the wall' trick. As if he were to make one move, the entire building would collapse around them.

"Anyway," he said. "What more do you need to know? I'm sure he's told you about my lateness, and how boring I am, how unfair, that sort of thing. Surely, he's told you about my odd reading habits?"

Iruka shook his head and smiled. "That, I could've found out from anybody, sensei."

No, he wasn't interested in some shallow first--and second--impression. He wanted to know Kakashi more deeply than that. What were his hobbies, his favorite foods; his thoughts on the current curriculum, the weather? What was his fitness regimen, besides running after Naruto et al? It looked like he stayed in shape. Iruka himself had little time for exercise, but sparred regularly at the training grounds. Did Kakashi spar? Not to make this an interrogation. But he'd heard the Jounin-sensei was a pretty formidable fighter.

"You know, not that I'm looking for a match," Iruka laughed. "Or I'm afraid I'd ask you to go easy on me. Heh. How about that tea?"

Kakashi hesitated, skirting the perimeter of the floor like Iruka was a bomb about to go off. He hadn't thought about it before setting out the pot, but he was going to have to take his mask down, or he'd have to abstain and have things look even more awkward. He wasn't above drinking through it, but he was certain Iruka already thought him a freak, and really...what the hell was wrong with him? Here he was, the big bad Jounin, Sharingan Kakashi of one-thousand techniques, about to lose his cool over what? A completely platonic drink with a fellow Shinobi. That was what.

He let his breath out and purposefully went about preparing the tea. He babbled on about the leaves and where he'd gotten them, and he hoped it was alright with the sensei, and really, he hated how nervous he sounded. But he kept that last bit to himself. He filled both their cups and apologized again. He didn't like to make assumptions, but it was awfully out of the blue for Iruka-sensei to come calling for a simple 'talk'. He must know how it would look and how people liked to gossip.

"What business is it of theirs?" Iruka snorted. "You would think people had better things to do."

"Well, people like you and I do, of course." He deliberated for a moment, then dropped to a crouch beside the table. "We have our jobs, missions and such. You have teaching." He pulled his mask down with one deliberate finger, and watched, tried to see himself for a moment through Iruka's eyes.

He tried to see himself as anything other than pale and plain and scarred. He followed Iruka's eyes along the slightly crooked bridge of his nose (broken once during a mission), and the long line of his jaw (his father's jaw, his father's cheekbones, his father's face). He tried to see the pleasant curve and fullness of his lips, and the dark almond shape of his right eye the way Iruka might, and wondered if he'd made too big a deal of things.

"I'm an albino," Kakashi filled in hastily over the lip of his tea-cup. "I burn easily, you see."

"The sun's been down for a few hours," Iruka teased. "Honestly, I wasn't going to ask about it."

And why would he? It was only fabric. It was no different from any other item of clothing, save that it covered his face, and it drove the Genin absolutely crazy. He was being silly, after all. This whole thing was silly, he thought, the way they dance around and around the subject without ever really touching on it--like they were afraid it might explode.

"Again," said Kakashi, "I don't like to make assumptions--assuming you've made the same assumptions I have--but, were you hoping for a date?"

He made a face. The same 'who, me?' face Naruto made when he was planning something mischievous. Something liable to detonate. "Hah, if I were, I would've brought flowers. Chocolate? Wine?"

"No thanks," Kakashi said. "Trying to stay on the wagon."

"The...single wagon?"

"No," Kakashi sighed. "The sober wagon. And knowing that...."

Iruka's face relaxed. He said no, he found it admirable. He could only imagine how difficult it must be. How lonely it must be. In a society where everybody drank, where they kept beer in the teacher's lounge, it must be like running a minefield.

(Another thing Kakashi was all too painfully familiar with.)

"No, running a minefield is like running a minefield," he said. "This is more like...being on a diet."

Iruka winced at that. A possible sore-subject? "Yeah, I suppose it's like that." He started toying with his tea-cup, then, turning it around and around in his hand, pretending to admire the design.

"Nice, isn't it?" Kakashi asked helpfully. "I picked them up during a mission through Grass. Not my usual habit, but I saw them and said to myself, 'you know, you could use a few more nice things'...just in case...."

"I've never done this before," Iruka said, still admiring the cup, or rather the table-top, the floor, his toes. "What you said earlier about making assumptions...I'm sorry if I've assumed too much on my own. If you're not, in fact...."

Kakashi sighed. "You know, I don't like dissemblers. Yes, I'm single, and yes, sensei, I am gay. Mostly,that is. And now that we've got that out in the open, you may relax."

Iruka did, to a degree. "Don't like me very much, do you? That is, speaking of dissemblers."

Oh, he didn't dislike the sensei. Not one bit. He certainly got a kick out of teasing him; and after a moment's pause, made a reeling motion with his hands.

"Eh?"

Kakashi cast off and reeled in again. "That's fishing," he teased. "You're fishing."

Iruka aimed a throw-pillow. "I am not!"

"You are, sensei," he said. "Speaking of dissemblers. I wouldn't blame you for not liking me very much, either. Hell, I wouldn't blame you for hating me."

Though he hadn't been clear in his rejection, he knew it was obvious to Iruka that there was no hope of anything happening between them. Not on this night. Maybe not in this lifetime. And he didn't owe him a single reason why not.

He shook his head ruefully. Iruka didn't have it in him to hate anybody, not even the man he'd put in prison...and oh yes, had Kakashi heard about that? The reason Naruto was able to graduate with such flying colors? He stood and turned, swaying, to lift his shirt and show Kakashi the scar on his back. "Pretty bad looking, wouldn't you say?"

He nodded appreciatively. He'd often imagined what Iruka's body might look like beneath those standard issue blues, and he wasn't disappointed. He had a nice roundness to him, filled-out without being fluffy, lean without looking underfed. His back and shoulders cut a nice vee above the high waist of his trousers, and Kakashi couldn't help but wonder if the rest of him was as nice. But he stuffed the thought down hastily. He knew where it led, and he'd already promised himself he wouldn't go there.

Iruka smiled at him, though, gently teasing that he had other scars, but they were probably nothing compared to Kakashi's.

"I do alright," he said blandly, though inside his heart was thumping and his blood was on fire. "I've got a pretty bad crack down the middle, back here," he added, patting at his bum. "My doctor said it was the worst he'd seen. A hopeless case. He tried gluing it shut, but it's no use. I'll have it for the rest of my life."

"Hah!" Iruka flopped back into the couch cushions. "Sounds like something Naruto would say."

It was exactly what he'd say, or had said, actually. Sakura had given him quite a thumping over it. "He speaks highly of you, you know."

"Oh? Does he speak of the time he set all the sprinklers off? Or the time he roped my desk to the ceiling? Chair and all?"

"You must miss him."

Iruka swirled the tea in his cup, hedging. "It's not as if we never see each other," he said.

"Come now, sensei, aren't you playing it a bit cool?"

That got a bit of a rise out of him, a quick flash and flush of defiance as he leaned forward, setting the cup down so he wouldn't spill. "Who was it that told me a Shinobi never shows his true feelings? Eh?"

Kakashi smiled and wondered if he ought to mention the upcoming Chuunin exams. It was a bit early yet, but if there was anything guaranteed to spin Iruka into a righteous fury, even make him leave, that would be it. It would be either now or later, but he wasn't going to keep it from him. It was a matter of respect, and Iruka more than deserved his.

"Kakashi-san?"

"It's nothing," he said, and moved to top off the sensei's tea. "I was just thinking that it's better, sometimes, to let your feelings show."

"Hm," Iruka muttered, smiling like he was pleased with himself. "You never fail to surprise me, Kakashi-san. What else were you thinking?"

He faltered. He was thinking about how warm the room suddenly was, how Iruka was the one spot of brightness in the entire drab space, and how stupid he felt sitting there on the floor. He was thinking how much easier things were at the onsen, where sex came first, and talk came second if at all. He was thinking, when it came to romance, he was hopeless. He was thinking this was a big mistake, and he ought to have made his rejection clearer. Or his assent. He wasn't so sure anymore.

"Really," Iruka laughed, "it wasn't that deep a question. Your poor, confused face!"

He feigned affront. "What about it?"

"If you don't mind my saying, it's kind of nice."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Ah, how cool of you," Iruka said. "But your serious face is kind of nice, too."

Kakashi grimaced. "How about now, sensei? Eh? How nice am I now?"

Iruka cackled and told him one day it would stick like that. In fact, he hoped it did. Wasn't that horrible of him? He slid from the couch to the floor, laughing as he said it, and moved a bit closer. Did Kakashi mind? "You're making me feel like I might scare you off," he said.

No, Kakashi shook his head, it wasn't like that. It wasn't like that at all. But. How would he explain? How was he to break it to Iruka, when he wanted nothing more than to sidle closer and lean into him with all his weight, to rest his confused head on that solid shoulder, to relax for one damn minute without worrying about the consequences. Without worrying that he'd screw things up, that he'd start imagining the worst again.

Simply put, he'd been in a relationship...of sorts, and he'd managed to bollox things pretty well. Taken things for granted, then let the whole mess slip right through his fingers. Because, he did not say, he could not heal Tenzou and he could not heal himself, and trying was too much.

Things were complicated, he said, and did the young sensei really want a piece of that--what he wryly called--whole tragic cake? He respected Iruka-sensei and their relationship as it existed, and he wasn't sure it was wise to go dipping his pen in the company ink.

After all, he added, Iruka couldn't know where that pen had been.

To which the sensei had smirked, eyes dark and glittering, and said "as a teacher, I'm used to people borrowing my pens. Do you know how many germs there are on an average person's hands? In an average person's mouth?"

"Yours doesn't scare me," Iruka said, then hastily added. "I don't mean it's not impressive--I mean, not that it wouldn't be--I--"

He was blushing.

"It's alright," Kakashi said. "I'm sorry if I haven't quite met your expectations."

"I'm not gonna lie," said Iruka, and truly, he wouldn't. Not ever. "I was hoping for a bit...more. But this is nice, too."

They talked long into the night after that, long after the tea was done. Kakashi made more--exchanging one substance for another, an upper for a downer--and convinced Iruka to let him prepare something more substantial. "Come on, do you trust me not to poison you?"

"Hah," Iruka laughed. "Should I?"

It was two a.m., and they were both still a little high on caffeine--theanine, actually, said Iruka-sensei--giggling and getting in one another's way as Kakashi set about digging through his fridge. "Here, I'll give you power of veto. Is that alright?" He held up a pint of mushrooms. "Yay? Nay?"

"Yay," said Iruka.

He set the mushrooms on the counter and pulled out a bunch of Swiss chard. "Yay or nay?"

"Hmm...why not? Yay."

In quick succession, Kakashi pulled out a bell pepper, a daikon radish, and some smoked fish, all eagerly approved, and he set Iruka to work cleaning and cutting things while he preheated a pan.

"You can be trusted with a knife at least," Kakashi teased, watching him studiously set about the mushrooms, straight backed and careful to keep his knuckles clear of the blade.

He scooped the diced mushrooms into a dish and handed it over. "Thank you for the vote of confidence," he said, grinning. "You're rather handy yourself."

"Better than ramen?"

"Well, sometimes."

"Nice diplomacy, sensei, but come now--"

"You don't think I'm being honest with you?" He was teasing now, teasing constantly; taking Kakashi's resolve to task, and reaming that daikon against the grater like it owed him money. Or intel. Or he wanted Kakashi to notice just how strong his grip was.

The mushrooms hit the pan with a sizzle, and sent up a waft of delicious steam. "Not entirely," Kakashi said.

"Sometimes is better than not at all."

"Dissembler."

"Can't take a compliment!"

Iruka pegged a stray bit of mushroom at him, and Kakashi made a great show of ducking and flinching before he snatched it from midair. "Not from a dissembler," he teased back, sloppy and stupid and so caught up in the moment he didn't notice that the mushrooms were singeing. Not until Iruka reached past him to turn down the gas.

"Oi," he reproached gently, breath too damn warm and too damn close for coincidence. "You sure I ought to trust you around an open flame, Kakashi-sensei?"

"I should ask you the same thing, Iruka-sensei." And damn it, that little smile of his, those dark eyes. He was going to break Kakashi's heart and dance merry hell on the pieces, and there was not a blessed thing he could do to stop him.

Iruka leaned in, face angled and serious, and it was just like kissing a stranger. It was like getting caught in a summer downpour, running half blind to the cover of an awning; warm, wet, and a little breathless. Perfect. He lifted a hot hand to Kakashi's waist and held him still for a moment; then he pulled away, eyes on his face, ready to gage his reaction. Ready to go at it again.

"You're incorrigible," Kakashi said. "Now I see what Naruto meant."

He slipped away and resumed preparing the vegetables, smiling as if nothing had happened. "There's no rule against licking the company envelope," he said tartly, then ducked his chin. "I didn't mean that to come out so--"

"Oh, you did," said Kakashi. Yeah, smooth. "And you liked it."

He forced a scowl. "No, I hated it. I thought you were terrible!"

"Right, shall we eat, then, and forget about it?"

"We ought to before that gets cold," he agreed. "How did you want this plated?"

Kakashi turned and thought 'I wish I'd never met you,' and immediately hated himself for it. Hated who he was and who Iruka was for making him think that. For presuming to come here and smile and act like there was even a chance in hell.

Though he didn't, really. He didn't hate the fact that he was a Jounin, that he'd lived his experience and had absolutely everything to show for it. He didn't hate the fact that Iruka was a Chuunin, that his experience ended where his desk began, and that was all he ever aspired to.

He thought maybe there was a chance in hell, and it was just in his nature to want to talk himself out of things. Because this was too good to be true.

This was a gift he'd been given, and if he dared so much as breathe, it would spoil everything. Iruka would see just how deeply he was fucked up, how it was to be forever in recovery, and leave. It would just prove everything Kakashi felt about himself and the world to be true. It made hope a dangerous quantity, and it made him want to run far, far away.

"You're angry," Iruka said. It was a statement, factual and plain. "It's alright, let me have it. I'm an adult."

Kakashi let out his breath and laughed. "It's not--"

"Don't do that," Iruka said. "Don't dissemble."

"Ah, the dissembler accuses me of dissembling?"

"It's just that we've been so honest with each other to this point." He set aside one of the plates, now artfully piled with daikon and chard, and started on the other. "Let's not stop now."

Kakashi imagined him saying the same thing in bed, 'let's not stop now', and wanted to kick himself. Surely, even he couldn't be that piggish. He wasn't all about sex, all the time; only some of the time. He appreciated his libido's opinion on most matters, but it did not rule him. He was not that simple anymore.

"I like you, sensei," he said, quickly spooning the sauteed mushrooms onto each plate, letting the chard wilt gently beneath. "You're a royal pain, and you annoy the hell out of me at times...but I like you."

"Yes?" Iruka nibbled a bit of bell pepper, eyes raised beneath moth-wing brows. "And what's so wrong with that?"

Kakashi divided up the smoked fish, slipping a pair of small fillets onto each plate beside the mushrooms and chard. He fished two pairs of chopsticks from the caddy by the electric kettle and handed one to Iruka, then walked past him with a plate in each hand. "Do you believe I'm a good person?" He asked.

Iruka tipped back into the ledge of the counter-top, blinking as if struck. "What kind of question is that?"

Kakashi set the plates down and sat zazen, folding his restless legs beneath the low table. "Just a question," he said. "I'm not asking if you think I'm nice, or anything like that. I'm asking if you think I'm good."

He frowned. "Whatever your damage is, Kakashi--" he paused, teeth catching at his lower lip. "If you'll forgive me for being direct?"

"It's alright, sensei." Kakashi inclined his head. "Sometimes the direct approach is favorable."

Iruka slumped a little, leaning his weight back on his arms. "With all due respect," he said, "I think you're full of crap."

Well, that took him aback a bit.

"I like you," Iruka went on. "I like you a lot, but I hate seeing you play the martyr. I know you've been hurt, I know you've lost people who are precious to you. I know it's hard, and I would never tell you how you're supposed to feel or cope. But seriously, do you think this...what you're doing, pushing people away, is healthy? Do you think it's necessary?"

Healthy, no. Necessary? Well, as necessary as any addiction. Kakashi didn't know how else to be, how not to push people away. He didn't know how or when to stop, and it scared him a little. He realized he was going to die alone some day, walled off by his own stubbornness, and he didn't want that. Moreso, he didn't want to admit it. Emotions were a liability, and he had way too far of them bubbling away behind his eyes, all muddled up in there; if he were to let a single one slip out, it would open the flood-gates and he'd drown.

Perhaps he already was drowning, and he didn't want to take Iruka down with him.

"Tell me," Iruka said. "There's no need to hold back."

Kakashi stared at his plate. Suddenly, he wasn't very hungry anymore. He felt himself go pale, and saw the flash of alarm in Iruka's eyes, and started talking.

"I suppose you've heard the story...about how my father committed suicide?"

Iruka blinked and stood there, frozen for a moment. He nodded minutely.

"It's not something I like to remember," Kakashi continued, "but growing up in that house, we always had a lot of dogs. You know? They don't think like we do. They were just doing what came naturally."

"No," said Iruka.

"Yes." He moved to push his plate aside, but found he couldn't even look at it. "I found him before they...well, before they got very far. It was just an ear. It could've been worse."

Though he wouldn't get into how much worse. He wouldn't revisit the knife and the blood-soaked mats. He said "I don't want that to be me."

He said "I don't want to end up alone like that," and was unprepared for how small his voice sounded, how shaky. He could see Iruka was freaked out, and knowing how asinine it would sound, tried to cover with a joke. "I'd like to go peacefully, you know? As opposed--as opposed--"

As opposed to 'in pieces', but he was too choked up to finish. He had to take a moment to breathe, and then clear his throat. Then he'd apologize for alarming the sensei.

But Iruka was one step ahead. "It's alright," he murmured.

He said he wouldn't let Kakashi become a shut-in, that he felt sort of responsible for him now. He wouldn't let dogs eat his wonderful face. He said Naruto would never let him hear the end of it if that happened. By that same token, he said, if he were to die, it would be Kakashi's duty to look out for Naruto, to keep him from falling into despair.

"Make no mistake," Iruka said, "I'm as prepared to fight and die as any Jounin. Though my skills aren't on a par with yours...I'll make do."

Kakashi had no doubt he would, though he assured him there was little chance they'd be mobilized tomorrow or the next day. He said he'd look out for him in any case.

And maybe he wasn't without his own damage. Maybe he wasn't so unlike Kakashi, after all: judging from the haunted look in his eyes, his body singular and composed against the tight rows of drawers and cabinets and finely patinaed linoleum. He wasn't drowning, just keeping his head above water, just as everyone else was doing.

"They say two incomplete people can't make a whole," he said. "I can't make you whole. It's not my job, and...god knows, I'm sure better people have tried. But I can be there. If you think it's worth letting me in." And here, his eyes flashed up. "Not sexually. Not unless you want that. And I'm not asking for your innermost self--"

"What are you asking, then, sensei?"

He looked down, shaking his head. "I'm not sure. I suppose...I'm asking you to trust me." Trust him to be persistent, despite Kakashi's best efforts to shove him away.

Could he do that? Could he even promise that? He wasn't sure. Trust went both ways, and Iruka had to know that. He also had to know the food was getting cold, because he flicked a glance at the table, then back at Kakashi.

"I trusted you enough to take this down," Kakashi said, pointing to the folded fabric at his throat. "Can we call it a start?"

They ate in silence afterwards, and more than ever, Kakashi thought about holding him. He thought about going back on his resolve, allowing that one moment of weakness, and taking him to bed. It wasn't going to bring back the lightness and ease of earlier, but it would break the tension and fill the hours until he had to leave. Which he did just before the sky took on that cool pre-dawn paleness, pulling him half-way out the door with a last kiss, torn between leaving and taking Kakashi with him.

The old widow in the next building saw them from her balcony, and she winked, and waved, and smiled; and Kakashi smiled and waved back.


	10. Catch-22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day, he would look back on this--the moment he admitted Sasuke bored him--and he'd cry.

It was all too good, too perfect, and of course there was going to be talk. If Kakashi wasn't going to sneeze and topple his nice new house of cards, then somebody else would.

The rumor mill had begun to whirl with start of business, and cranked on as dutifully, as viciously as ever; and no-one with a lick of common sense was going to believe they'd 'just talked' until dawn, or that they could ever just be friends. There was no such thing. Men were dogs, they said, and what were the Hatake known best for?

(Ought to know what he's getting into with that one. And a Jounin, no less!)

The fact that Iruka wasn't one to put a label on things only increased the wags furor.

Labels or no, they said, a cock is like a sword: if it's badly enough in need, it doesn't matter who's doing the polishing.

(Any port in a storm, eh old boy?)

He was a grown man, though, Iruka. He knew full well what he was getting into, and was quite capable of handling things himself. "It's alright, Naruto," he sighed across the top of the mission desk. "Let him go."

Two of him looked up. "Not 'til he apologizes!" The other dozen continued to wrestle the terrified instructor across the hastily cleared floor, barrel-of-monkeys style, while his team-mates covered their faces in horrified chagrin.

Kakashi was able to pry the main one off after some struggling, scruffing him like he would a disobedient pup, and all the while, Raidou's words rang hollow in his ears. Divine retribution. He would live his Dharma in the form of one impulsive loud-mouth, one confused little girl, and one self obsessed loner. He would instill in them all the virtues of being a Shinobi--rightness, chivalry, loyalty, and teamwork--and try to keep them from getting themselves, each other, and their clients killed.

Naruto made this especially challenging as he talked near non-stop, competed with Sasuke in everything, and had absolutely no filter between thought and action. Getting him to do things wasn't a problem. It was getting him not to do things. And once set in motion, Naruto would stay in motion unless disrupted by an object of equal or greater mass. Often, that object was the ground, and that would only stop him for so long.

Once, after the longest, most grueling of days, when nothing seemed to go smoothly and everything seemed to end up soaked, mud splattered, and pear-shaped, he said he thought there was something wrong with Naruto. There had to be. There was something fundamentally off about him that had nothing to do with the Kyuubi, and everything to do with his brain. Either that, or there was something wrong with Kakashi if he thought he could still do this and not go mad.

Jiraiya laughed into his sake cup. Guffawed, actually.

That was it, it had finally happened. Kakashi was insane. He had to be, he said, just like Yossarian* was.

"Yossarian was sane, actually," Jiraiya said. "That's the catch. In order to be grounded under section eight, he has to ask. If he asks, that's clearly the process of a rational mind, therefore he can't be grounded."

"If I asked to quit training Team Seven, then, would that make me sane?"

"No," said Jiraiya. "It would make you a coward. Pass me the pickles, would you?"

He had no intention of quitting, but just saying it was a load off his mind. Truthfully, and thanks in no small part to a successful mission in Wave Country, he had faith in his team; he had hope, or he wouldn't have given them a second look. He wouldn't have started taking them on increasingly difficult assignments, often leaving them to muddle through with only token interference, if he didn't believe they were capable. The other Jounin could question his judgment, and Iruka could eat himself alive worrying, but they didn't see what he saw.

They were many things--Sasuke, Sakura, and Naruto--young, naive, and far too trusting in the way the world was supposed to be, but one thing they were not was helpless.

"And that's why I have faith in you," Kakashi explained, in futile hopes it'd be enough to wipe that look of hard skepticism from the boy's face. Really, had no-one ever told him it might stick that way?

"Right," Naruto grunted. "Not like you're too busy training Sasuke or anything!"

"Naruto, please don't misunderstand this as my playing favorites. And anyway, as a Shinobi and soldier under my command, you should be able to rise above something as petty as jealousy."

He screwed his face up harder at that, grimace going from clockwise to counter clockwise, inscrutable as a Shiba dog and just as immovable in whatever it believed to be right at the moment. "You said a lot of words just now," he grumbled. "But all I heard was jealous. M-maybe I am a little jealous! Who wouldn't be? The exam's a month away, what am I supposed to do?"

"Don't worry, I have someone suitable in mind for you, Naruto." As wrong as it was, he couldn't help but take credit. It was the only way he could see Naruto going along. "Just listen to what he says, and you should be fine."

"Sensei, wait! I don't understand." His face warred with itself. Inside, his gears were turning recursive, switching tracks with a whine of sparks. "Why Sasuke, and not me? Just tell me."

"It would take too long to explain," he said, knowing exactly how abandoned the guy felt, and knowing he had to take the harder tack. "Everyone has a natural affinity, and Sasuke just happens to be the same type as me."

"Eh? Type? I mean, you do kinda act alike, but...."

It really would take too long to explain, and he could see the growing alarm, could see he'd have to switch gears pretty damn fast. Otherwise, a crash was imminent.

"Come now, what's the big worry?"

Naruto slumped, shoulders sinking way down, as if he carried the weight of several mountains on his back. "He's already so far ahead," he said. "It feels like I'll never catch up."

Not with that attitude, he wanted to say, then stopped himself cold. "Naruto, the fact you were able to get this far ought to tell you something."

"Yeah," he muttered grimly. "I was lucky up until now." He said he wasn't a genius like Sasuke or Neji or any of those other strong guys--any one of whom he could end up having to fight--but he was smart enough to know what he didn't know. Smart enough to know he didn't have a fart's chance in a typhoon without some training.

Though he did have quite a way with words, Kakashi thought. "Genius is overrated," he said. "There are a lot of geniuses out there who have done approximately squat with their potential, and there are a lot of ordinary people who have worked ten times as hard to get ten times as far.

"These," he said, "are the people your sensei looks up to."

Train hard, he said. "As a wise man once told me: you must walk your own walk. You'll do fine."

It felt awful having to disappoint him again, and in time Kakashi was sure--as sure as the world was impermanent--the decision would come to haunt him; but it had already been agreed upon, as so many things in his life and Kakashi's life had, over his head and behind his back. He only wished there was a way to make Naruto understand. He wasn't playing favorites, nor was he playing the martyr again. It wasn't that Sasuke was better or more worthy or showed any more promise.

Sasuke simply needed him more.

He and Naruto were similar in more ways than they knew, but there were stark differences in the way each of them coped. It was in their nature. Naruto was all bluster, liable to rush in and kick up a storm, all sound and fury signifying nothing. Like Sasuke, he was volatile, stubborn, and proud; but he had a will and confidence in himself that Sasuke lacked. Sasuke had ambitions and aspirations. He had goals. He was driven, deep, deep down, by an inferiority complex so entrenched, so embedded, it would be hard to untangle without unsealing the cracks he'd so carefully glued, so you'd never know they were there unless you looked closely enough.

He knew Naruto knew of Sasuke's damage. But he wondered just how much of it he grasped. How much could anybody? Kakashi might have been there to see the aftermath, but he hadn't lived it. Five years later, he wasn't the one still suffering night terrors. And he wasn't the one hell-bent on seeking revenge. He knew where Sasuke went late some nights, and it was nowhere good.

* * *

One day, he would look back on this--the moment he admitted Sasuke bored him--and he'd cry.

Sasuke asked questions, or rather, he posed challenges, but he never really engaged. Rasengan got little more than a grunt out of him, and Chidori--what Kakashi proposed to teach him--little more than a nod. Yes, yes, he'd seen it already, could they move on to the teaching part? He was impatient, and nothing Kakashi tried to impress upon him, not the risks or the dangers or the responsibilities, seemed to resonate.

He just looked at Kakashi with eyes that said 'I do this, though it is beneath me' and dutifully molded chakra. Dutifully, but with contempt, he learned the technique in a matter of days--faster than Kakashi, even--and decided that was enough. The rest, the warnings and the lectures, all of the minutia, breezed right by him.

Training was Sasuke's wax beans. It was something he did to become stronger. It was because he _had to_. Had to outstrip Naruto. Had to maintain his image and beat Gaara. Had to take revenge. Had to kill. He wore his damned 'had to's' like a mask, and it hurt sometimes to look at him.

"You still don't get it, do you? The true purpose of this technique?"

Sasuke was impatient and impulsive, but he wasn't stupid. He knew enough to know that he didn't know anything, and he solemnly shook his head.

"Very well," said Kakashi. "I want you to attack me with nothing less than full killing intent."

The last thing he remembered was the bright flash and thud as he blocked, deflected--and woke up staring at the sky. And finally, there on Sasuke's face, was something other than contempt.

"How long was I out?" Kakashi tested trying to sit up. He had a thumping headache, and bruises he'd feel tomorrow, but he was miraculously unharmed.

"Ten minutes," Sasuke said, eyes on his feet.

"I told you, attack like you intend to kill."

"I did that," he grunted.

"Did you?" Kakashi smiled drolly behind his mask, and reached up gingerly to feel his face. "I'm not dead, now, am I?"

"No," Sasuke grumbled. "I...pulled back at the last second, and still." He looked up.

"Do you understand, then, the responsibility that I'm placing on your shoulders?" A weight like an elephant. Like a mountain. "This is something only you can do, Sasuke. Please, use it wisely."

He was so angry, Sasuke, and that anger made him shockingly strong, so that sometimes Kakashi forgot how small he was. He'd look over at the curve of his sleeping back, late at night when sleep evaded him, and find himself wordlessly terrified.

Be a protector, he'd said, because sensei wouldn't always be there. Because revenge would only poison him. Because, what? Shinobi killed and fought; it was everything they were and everything they trained for. They killed and called it virtuous, noble, an act without malice. A Shinobi was for the village, a tool, a thing.

A Shinobi had no face, no self, and no heart with which to feel pain, but Kakashi still woke up to the scrape of Haku's splintered ribs against his arm; still felt the blood welling, no matter how hard he scrubbed. Who was he to say one way of killing was any more right than the next? Sasuke would only remain untainted for so long, and so what purpose did it serve telling him?

Was that part of the reason Kakashi's Father simply. couldn't. take it anymore? And lying awake, one of those long, lonely nights, Sasuke had snorted and tensed and rolled over to stare at Kakashi across the ground between their bed-rolls.

"I can hear you blinking," he griped. "I can't fall asleep like this!"

"Worrying about Naruto?" Kakashi teased, just for that little grimace, that little slip of normalcy to show.

Sasuke sat up and worried at the knuckles of his right hand. "Of course not," he sniffed. Naruto wasn't even an after-thought. No. And he wasn't worried that they planned to be late, or whether or not his seal would hold, or about Orochimaru, about the fact he'd heard someone was killed already and people were whispering about the Sand planning an attack...it was just that he could hear Kakashi blinking, and it was annoying, and he was pretty sure he'd left his apartment door unlocked. And alright, perhaps he was worried about Naruto.

"Breathe a single word about that," he warned, "be prepared to wake up with green hair."

"That's a lot to not worry about," said Kakashi. "And you lay a finger on sensei's hair, you'll be digging potatoes for a month."

Another snort. "How is it you're able to stay so cool?"

Practice. It had taken him years, but he was quite good at pretending. Good, but not perfect. On that night, he lay awake because he worried, because Sasuke worried, and each of their worries fed the other's until they crowded out all the breathable air. He could also hear Sasuke blinking, and it annoyed him just as much, so there.

Sasuke laughed. It was a dry, snotty little laugh, but it sounded a whole lot like progress. "For a Jounin, you can be awfully immature sometimes."

Kakashi checked the moon's position and sighed. "It's only midnight," he said. "If you still can't sleep--"

He was up off of his bed-roll before Kakashi finished, and tugging on his wrist weights. "Let's go," he said.

One day, sooner than he thought, Kakashi would look back on that moment and wonder where he went wrong. Had he listened, had he paid enough attention, had he done something more, would things have turned out differently? Or had he breathed at just the wrong moment, blinked, and toppled everything?

He remembered Sandaime telling him: you can only do what you can do.

He was wise, the old man. Kakashi wondered if he would've foreseen it. There was so much he'd have wanted to ask him, so much he felt he had yet to learn. That, he reflected, was what hurt the most.

"What do you think he'd say?"

"Bear up," Raidou whispered. He'd been let out of the hospital provisionally, and stood tethered to his I.V. pole, bandaged stiffly under funeral black. "That's all."

Keep going forward, he'd have said. Fall down seven times, recover eight; and for heaven's sake, don't all look so gloomy!

"Take care of Hayate for us," Genma said, and it wasn't clear from all the rain whether he was crying or not.

It wouldn't be clear, Kakashi knew, whether any of them were, for which he was thankful.

"We'll be alright," Iruka murmured, a firm hand on his shoulder in passing, a soft shrug pulling him briefly close. "This is what he left behind. Strength."

And there was a second there, a moment, where he was almost able to convince himself. There was a bubble of peace amidst the settling dust, the sifted rubble, where he felt almost safe. The warmth of Naruto's smile was unshaken, and Sakura still looked to him, and Sasuke seemed, at times--when he thought maybe no-one was looking--a little less angry. What could he do, other than go forward?

Breathe out.

Relax, Iruka murmured into his shoulder.

He did not like to think they were on borrowed time. He did not like to think of anything that following evening--after his untethered walk from the mission-room, to the ramen-stand, to his apartment as if by remote--but the warmth of Iruka's arms, and the lack of being taken for granted. He had no illusions this was about anything more than comfort, and giving, and connecting, and letting go; and in that way, it was perfect. It was simple. There was no such thing as Jounin or Chuunin, and no such thing as should or should not. There were just two people fucking, and everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.

Iruka topped because Kakashi wanted him to, and Kakashi teased afterwards--lying loose and panting beneath him, unstrung in only the best way--that surely this wasn't his first time.

"With you it is," he said.

"And how was it?"

Iruka smiled and traced the bridge of Kakashi's nose with one fingertip. "Well, I think it might've confirmed something for me," he said, then quickly added "don't go getting a swelled head."

No, of course not. "Not for at least another ten minutes."

He did not like to think this was the eye of the hurricane, had stopped liking the terms 'before' and 'after', and so he had chided himself against bracing for anything. He had steeled himself from imagining the very worst, from revisiting his darkest place, for every bit of news Jiraiya brought back, and he had resolved to be that person his team-mates could rely on.

Had he been alert, had he been braced, he wondered: would Itachi's attack have caught him so utterly unprepared? Had he been stronger, would he not have taken it so personally? He could be awfully immature sometimes. It seemed he still had much to learn--like never to tangle with a natural sharingan user while low on chakra, low on sleep, and distracted by grief. And to take Gai much more seriously from that point on. To clean his apartment and hide his porn much more thoroughly, before being carried back comatose.

He was lucky he'd lived to regret it, Aoba said, and also, he'd thought the Jounin-sensei had better taste than that.

"Human sexuality is a complex thing," he'd sighed. And so was human frailty. So was human resilience. And this would not break him. The way he saw things, the worst had finally come to pass, and he was still alive to gripe about it.

The new Hokage smiled down and informed him he'd soon have a whole lot more to gripe about. She handed him his mission orders and said he'd be deploying as soon as his chakra levels normalized. Then, after that, after the first time Sasuke tried to kill Naruto, another mission.

He should have refused. He should've stopped. He should've thought. He should've been able to wake the hell up and see what was happening right before his eyes. No predictions necessary. No sharingan needed. All he'd had to do was look, wake up and look, and tell the truth when Sakura asked him if things were alright. Because they weren't alright, and he was a fool to think he could smile and make it all better, that allowing himself a single moment of happiness wasn't a mistake.

It was his fault. He'd been so quick to tell Sasuke what to do and what not to do, so quick to brush aside the one boy he could have helped. And just like every adult in his life, every authority figure, every asshole big brother, he was afraid he'd missed a crucial cue. He'd missed his moment, and there was Naruto lying at the edge of the falls, not moving. Kakashi's heart sank. His heart stopped, and it wouldn't start beating again until he'd found Naruto's pulse, and he was sure he wasn't dead.

He was sorry for being late again. But what good were his apologies now? Sensei wasn't infallible after all, and how about a nice bowl of ramen after you've just been gutted?

Sasuke had done this and then fled, gone rogue, there was no doubt about it. Five good Shinobi, three of them just Genin, where in the hospital, and Naruto--the boy who dreamed of being Hokage--would wake up to find he was no more infallible than sensei. And Kakashi wouldn't be there.

After visiting the shrine, leaving bloody smudges that he tenderly wiped away, Kakashi went home and got into the shower fully clothed. He sat until the water ran clear, until he'd lost the urge to break something, drink something, lose control. Then he stripped off his wet kit, pulled on dry things, and went up to the roof.

Tenzou was waiting for him, masked and silent. He turned at Kakashi's footfalls, tensed, then visibly relaxed. He removed his mask and stood there, pale as a statue, his eyes on Kakashi like terrible magnets. It was clear he knew everything, had been there, had come back and reported all that he'd seen.

Kakashi could smell the forest on him: damp earth, fresh sap, and congealed blood. Of course blood. It was ridiculous to think a bunch of Genin could finish the targets off themselves. And when he held out his hand--good doggie, come--Kakashi saw rust stains under his nails.

When he opened his mouth to speak, Kakashi ordered him silent, then collapsed against him.

Because he knew what he'd say, and childishly, he didn't want to hear it. He just wanted to shut his eyes and lean into that warm shoulder and not have to think. Not have to think about shattered ribs and welling warmth, and who would have to do it. He didn't want to have to tell Naruto. He didn't want to have to see his face.

Tenzou pressed in close, backing him away from the ledge, into the shadow of the roof-top door. He said "it's not your fault." He said "Sasuke made his own decisions." He said "come on, are you just going to cry?"

Yes. Yes he was. He didn't give a shit. He'd cry until he was done crying, and he'd let Tenzou hold him, gently swaying while the air drizzled and the crickets chirped. And he'd refuse to think about what came afterward.

Naruto would leave, and he would stay behind, and all any of them could ever do was keep on: recover nine times, recover ten, and keep moving with every ounce of strength left.


	11. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kakashi hopes far too much for his own good.

One day, Tenzou said--after the longest of days where everything ended up cramped, and sore, and drained of chakra--Naruto and Kakashi would be the death of him.

It was a rather thankless task, Kakashi agreed. Poor Tenzou--that was, Captain Yamato--deserved a break. A nice floor-cushion, at least, for his aching backside.

"Oh," muttered Yamato, low enough for Naruto not to hear. "Still care about that, do you?"

He couldn't say how much. Only that, sleeping beside him night after night--their bedrolls so close, yet so far--was much lonelier and colder a sleep than when he wasn't there at all. Only that seeing him again, after so many years and so many cool absences, from that most vulnerable position in his hospital bed, had brought it all rushing back. He could only say this was an exercise in endurance for the both of them. He could only say that Sakura had noticed, and Naruto soon would, and they were only kidding themselves.

He could only say he hoped far too much for his own good.

He stood within the circle of Tenzou's jutsu, each sentry a torch bearing a wooden dog's head, and paid only cursory attention to his book. Then, at the first wobble, the first sign of exhaustion, he'd be there in time to catch Naruto, and give his co-captain a much needed rest.

They were the proud parents in those days, and while Naruto dreamed of a more idyllic time, Yamato dozed against Kakashi's shoulder, or his leg, or his back. He woke in a slow daze, always careful to distance himself before Naruto saw, but after so long sitting cramped, holding the technique that kept Naruto's Kyuubi in check, the wear had started to show. Bit by bit, his stoic mask was cracking.

He moved his bedroll a little closer that night.

Kakashi lay awake and pretended not to watch his sleeping face. Pretended he didn't still care.

Yamato was no longer his subordinate, had never really been. He was now equal, was now different, was now more mature and settled in his ways. But he still smelled the same. He still had that same stubborn itch beneath his right shoulder-blade, now buried under canvas and kevlar, and that same stubborn attitude about it. He would not arch longingly back into Kakashi's scratchings, would not betray a single tic, but later that night, he moved his bedroll closer again.

Kakashi was close enough to whisper and be heard. "This won't do, you know. What if Naruto were to see?"

"I have no idea," Yamato muttered, eyes shut, face composed. "Just go to sleep."

"I love you," Kakashi said, going for dry sarcasm, for snark. Smiling like it didn't hurt.

Yamato's hand crept across the edge of his blanket, and he said "I know."


End file.
